Mixed messages
by CrazyAbout
Summary: Set in no particular series and with no bearing on what was, Ruth's on the grid and Harry isn't. That he happens to be on his honeymoon on his own, is down to a misunderstanding. Who better to give them a prod than Ros and Tariq.
1. Chapter 1

Four days and even longer nights, Ruth has stayed away from the grid. With her phone turned off and her head buried in the sand. To avoid the only pair of eyes, that she's failed to convince herself she hasn't been dreaming of of swimming in. Preferably with the rest of his gorgeous body attached. In a deep ocean. Somewhere where nobody knows them.

Enough is enough she's told herself, she has to face him and today's going to be the day. As far as she can remember Ros will still be on her course, which should make things easier. So it'll be just her, Harry and Tariq. Who let's face it is usually too busy to notice what's happening around him.

She needs to explain to Harry why she said no, when she would have said yes. It was just such a shock that was all. Him blurting it out, halfway through eating their shared sandwiches on a bench overlooking Greenwich. Not an ounce of romance or a mention that he loves her. A surprise so monumental, that she needs to tell him that if he asks her again, at a time when they're alone, and not when Ros is bearing down on them with a look that implies that she's caught them indulging in what she's been thinking about, that she'll give him a different answer. And now that she's had time to think about it. Where's he been these past few days and why hasn't he called to see if she's OK?

Bracing herself to face a less than happy Harry, she walks through the pods, only to find an almost empty grid. Well apart from the couple of agents from another section that they've kidnapped to cover for Ros, the usual back up staff and her analysts, who've got their heads down and are buried in paperwork so won't notice her.

Until materialising from nowhere …... 'Well I certainly wasn't expecting to see you today,' says Tariq. Skidding to a halt front of her and looking at her as though he's seen a ghost.

'Why not? Seems to be a straight forward enough question. Given that she works here and she'd rung in advance, to say that she'd be back in today.

'Shouldn't you be with Harry?'

_Should she? Oh my god. Is there some sort of meeting that she's supposed to be at, which this self imposed absence has made her forget?_

'Where is Harry?' Is her next attempt to get some sense out of Tariq, who by now is staring at her as though she's completely crazy. Before handing her his coffee and nodding towards the meeting room with the suggestion that she ought to follow him.

Assuming that Harry must be in there, probably with Towers, in which case she'll receive one of Harry's caustic comments. As opposed to her recently acquired title, which will require him to say 'Hello Darling', she's surprised to see that the room is empty. Tariq who by now is pouring himself a glass of water and indicating that she needs to sit down, makes her realise that this isn't a meeting that she's forgotten, that it's something more serious. That something's happened to Harry seems a reasonable conclusion. Something that she won't want to hear about. He's done something stupid like resigning, or he's ill and nobody's thought to tell her. But why would they have told her anyway? Nobody knows that she and Harry have become as close as they have do they?

_Save me now I helped him arrange it_ Tariq is thinking, taking in huge gulps of air. At the same time as his mind is turning cartwheels. Ones that will see him being propelled out of the meeting room, to anywhere rather than standing in front of Ruth. Wondering how he's going to explain to her, that Harry had asked him to stay late one evening. To help him arrange a holiday, which he'd later confessed was going to be a honeymoon. That Harry hadn't actually named his bride to be, but he'd automatically assumed it to be her. And yet here she is, whilst Harry is presumably spending the second night of his honeymoon, swanning around France with another woman. Strange really, because he'd been so sure that all their so called late-night meetings in Harry's office had nothing to do with work. Obviously, he's been wrong.

'Tell me Tariq and that's an order.' Ruth is now shouting at him. A Ruth who seems to have grown to be the same height as he is.

'I'll go and get my laptop, you'll get a better picture,' he tells her. Hoping it will buy him some time, because he knows he'll mess it up if he tries to put it into words. Besides he's seen Ruth cry before and it's not something he wants to see repeated. Inevitable though it will be.

Now she's sure that Harry's been shot or worse. That he's lying in some hospital bed, where he's slowly dying a painful death alone. Except that once Tariq comes back, with an apology that he's had to make an urgent call of nature, which seeing that he doesn't look at all well, only confirms her fears. That is, until it isn't a hospital bed that fills the screen, but a marina on what looks like a canal. And certainly not in the UK, given that the sun's shining. Which means what? That Tariq's decided to show her his holiday snaps instead?

'Just spit it out!' Doesn't seem an unreasonable demand. Given that she's now out of her mind with worry, and thinks that this must be some ridiculous deviation away from the truth. To shield her from the pain presumably. Until Tariq explains that Harry's gone on his honeymoon, which he'd assumed was going to be with her, but now knows differently.

'He can see she's upset,' she barely hears, as she tries to refocus and come up with a plan that will sort this out. Harry must have been so sure that she'd say yes. To have booked a honeymoon is one thing. But to have gone on his own and she's sure he is on his own, is another matter entirely.

'I need to find him, where is he?' She demands of the now ashen faced Tariq. Whose visualising his future in the service disappearing down the nearest toilet

He doesn't think is a good idea, but far be it for him to argue with Ruth, who looks as though she'll hit him if he doesn't tell her the truth. Should he ring Harry and warn him? No bad idea. Harry always gets cranky when he interrupts him, which he frequently does and if he's _busy _when he rings him, which he imagines he will be, then better not. He'll probably get sacked after this anyway, especially as Ruth is now copying down the details of Harry's itinerary and talking about getting a flight to the South of France that evening. Whilst at the same time asking him to check out the train times. To see if there's a connection to where Harry's likely to be.

* * *

It was petulance, he knows. That and a deep hurt, both of his own making, that finds him waking up alone in a sumptuous double bed, within touching distance of the sea. A prearranged honeymoon, that will now turn into a nightmare holiday, on a luxury narrow boat on the Canal du Midi. The fridge already stocked, and Ruth's favourite wine that he'd planned to open on the first night unopened.

Idiot he tells himself again as he drags himself out of bed in search of a cup of coffee. It's a beautiful sunny morning, just as he'd imagined it would be. A morning when he'd planned that they'd walk hand in hand into the sea, after they'd had breakfast and – no he doesn't want to think about what would have been, other than it wouldn't have involved him having another cup of coffee alone.

It wasn't as though he hadn't planned it, because he had. He'd booked a table and was going to take her out to lunch. Surprise her maybe, but absolutely sure that she'd say yes. Until a ridiculously long meeting with the Home Secretary had scuppered his plans. Egg and bloody cress sandwiches and her smile, was all that it had taken for him to bugger it up. He'd bought them in a hurry and had got it wrong. She'd asked for salad. He knew that she didn't eat eggs, something about them giving her indigestion. But she'd rubbished his apology and told him that it didn't matter. It was fine. It had coincided with the sun coming out, and in that moment, he'd just looked at her, and well that had been that. Ros had been walking towards them, so it hadn't been ideal or romantic. But even so.

Now he has two weeks to look forward to, or not in this case. Time to wonder how he's going to face her when he goes back onto the grid. If she meant what she said, in other words no, then she might have even taken that job at the Home Office. Which means that he'll rarely see her. It will be Towers that she'll sharing her late-night chats with. Not that it makes him feel any better, but maybe it's for the best?


	2. Chapter 2

By the time that Ruth left the grid, she was running on empty. She'd gone back into Harry's office and looked in his diary. Nothing new in that, even if someone did see her. It was part of her job. And there it was, two weeks that he'd marked out as holiday. How the hell had she missed it? Ros and the Home Secretary with ticks against their names, confirming that they knew he was going to be away. That he hadn't asked her to marry him on a whim, only succeeding in making her feel worse than she already did.

That done, she'd gone in search of Tariq. To apologise to him and tell him not to worry. To ask him to explain her absence to Ros. That she'd got the flu or the chicken pox. Anything that would buy her some time. No on second thoughts, Ros deserved to be told the truth or at least what approximated a vague version. Whatever the truth was, she'd almost forgotten. It wasn't what she really wanted or was professional, but then someone who made Harry seem like a cuddly teddy bear by comparison, was going to guess anyway. She looked at her watch. She needed to go home and pack.

They could hardly be called seductive, but then packing a case that she hadn't had time to book into the hold so counted as cabin baggage, didn't allow for clothes that she considered would be a turn on for Harry. Two pairs of shorts that she hadn't worn for years, several sun tops, a couple of summer dresses that she could just about squeeze into, but she'd never worn on the grid because they hugged her figure, plus her nightwear, and she was done. Not that this was going to be anything more than a holiday and a very short one, if when she found him, Harry had changed his mind.

Now if the boot had been on the other foot it would have been easy. In a nutshell it was Harry himself who made her toes curl and the rest of her body disintegrate like a marshmallow under the sun. If there was ever a man who could wear a suit or be dressed casually and look equally good, it was him. It was part of the attraction.

_Question one though, was did she love him? Yes of course she did. He clearly loved her, although he'd never actually told her._

_Question two was a bit more tricky. Was it enough to want to be married to him? She thought that it was. Although she'd settle for anything, rather than how she felt at the moment._

_Question three was the one that she was really struggling with. It was all very well and good to have be giving in to her raging imaginings. The ones where she and Harry had been writhing about on a beach somewhere, unable to keep their hands off each other. Hot, sweaty and sated, before they'd raced into the sea to cool off. But that's all they were, just dreams. She and Harry had never actually slept together had they? __Despite the thousands of times that they'd looked at each other, teetering on the brink. They'd never quite managed to get between the sheets. What if they weren't good together in bed? __It would be over before it had even started.__ Which seemed unlikely given that it was Harry. Who according to what she'd once overheard Juliet say when she'd been eaves dropping, could cause stars to tumble from the sky. Which was probably the moment when she'd faced up to the fact that she actually fancied Harry and had wanted to scratch Juliet's eyes out._

_The most recent chance to find out had been a few weeks ago. After a late-night meeting at the Home office when Harry had insisted that he drive her home. Standing on her doorstep he'd kissed her goodnight. Nothing new in that, except that she'd stupidly let him go home, instead of dragging him through the front door. How the next morning when she'd arrived on the grid, he'd called her into his office. How if Ros hadn't arrived and interrupted them, who knows where the conversation would have gone? They might have already 'done it' for want of a better expression. Given where she now was and what the present company were talking about. _

Trying to put all that aside for the moment, she gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. She hated flying at the best of times. But on a Friday evening on the last flight out of Stansted, with a crowd of weekend revellers and she just wanted it to stop. Crammed into a seat next to a twenty something wearing a veil, so presumably the bride to be on her hen weekend trip wasn't helping. Compounded by the endless chatter from her travelling companions, that would involve them getting legless and laid. Well bully for them.

'No thank you,' she told the sympathetic hostess who had arrived alongside her. Asking her if she was alright and did she want something to drink or eat. _It wasn't as though she could miraculously produce Harry, could she? _Failing that, she actually fancied the strongest drink that she could come up with, but arriving in a foreign country close to midnight, she'd need to keep her whits about her. She was knackered, she was upset and she had no idea as to where she was going to spend the night when she got there. All she knew was that she'd answered her own question. That she wanted to be with Harry, whatever the outcome.

* * *

Harry's day would have gone a whole lot more smoothly than Ruth's, had he known that she was braking virtually every rule in the book to be with him. But he hadn't, so his ability to enjoy himself had been nigh on impossible. Dressed in his new shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, he'd finished his lonely breakfast and considered his options. Talking himself into sticking to his planned schedule, he'd then locked the doors and headed across the marked footpath into the village. He needed to stock up for a few days. Not much because he intended eating out when he could. Alone wasn't how he'd planned it, although alone it was going to be.

_What would she be doing now? He knew he should be trying to blank out, but just couldn't. Assuming that she'd gone back into work, she'd be holding the fort in his absence. Ros would be back in tomorrow. How would that pan out? Not well he suspected and felt guilty about. If only she'd said yes and he'd been so sure that she would, then she'd be here with him. _

_Why had he asked Ruth to Marry him? Because he loved her. Nothing more nothing less wasn't exactly true, it went far deeper than that._

_Why hadn't he told her during the endless hours that they'd spent alone together? Only he knew and now regretted. It was just that he hadn't wanted to rush things and god knows, it had taken all his restraint not to do so. Working so closely together, especially in the evenings and sometimes late into the night when the grid had been empty, he'd wanted nothing more than to take her back to his home and to his bed. And not just for the sex. Although in his imagination, it had and still would be wonderful. But if that's not what she wanted, then just to be with her. To plunge the depths of her mind about the so many things that they had in common - and to laugh and be just them. Something that they'd rarely done and were lost to him now. _

Which became even more poignant when he walked into the market place.

The scene in front of him, was just how he remembered it from the last time that he'd been there. The huge plane trees, that provided a canopy from the sun for the dozens of brightly covered stalls, his most vivid memory. The vendors selling anything and everything, from fresh fish to a pair of carpet slippers. Simple and elegant Ruth had once said to him. Well this was his version and why he'd so wanted to bring her here. Even the well-remembered piped music didn't sound out of place. It belonged. As did he, he realised in that moment. He couldn't cut a run. So weaving his way between the chattering shoppers, with a freshly baked croissant and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, he took a deep breath and sat down on a low stone wall to watch the world go by. Alone and desperately sad, in a place that was filled with happiness.

_He so wanted to ring her. Just to hear her voice. No best not. That would make him seem needy._

Shopping done, he decided on a different route back to the boat. One that would take him along the towpath. If he stuck to his planned schedule, he had at least six hours of travelling at the speed of a gnat, given that he'd have to take a break for lunch. Would he be able to force himself to eat at the places that he'd planned to take Ruth? Wasn't something that he needed to think about at the moment, but was niggling away at him as he cast off. Heading east towards Beziers, his planned overnight stop where there was a quayside packed with seafood restaurants that he knew she'd love. Concentrate on what is, he told himself as a boat passed him in the opposite direction. The occupants waving and smiling as if they expected him to wave back.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth woke up with a headache and a stiff neck. Opening her eyes to see the sun steaming in through the window, she felt mildly disorientated. Probably because she hadn't eaten since lunchtime the previous day and had slept fitfully. She'd forgotten how much it cost to stay in an airport hotel. Designed to be convenient, the night here had cost her an arm and a leg. But she'd had no other option. She'd needed to feel safe and be faceless amongst the other travellers. People who if they looked at her, unlikely as that was, wouldn't be judgemental or want to have a conversation. Plus, the room was hers for another couple of hours and it _was_ comfortable. Time enough for her to have a relaxing shower and get dressed before she went down to breakfast. To mull over Harry's probable whereabouts and how best to find him. What she'd say to him when she did she had no idea. It very much depended on the way he reacted when he saw her. But before that she had to make a decision as to what to wear. Definitely not shorts, not at this stage. She wasn't that brave.

Being fluent, she took the rare opportunity to speak French when she ordered her breakfast. Fresh fruit salad and a croissant with a pot of tea, at table beside the window, she opened the small folder that she'd brought with her. A wave of nostalgia and longing washing over her at the all too familiar writing that she knew as well as her own, if not better. Whether because of regrets or expectations, probably both she decided, she needed to stay both calm and positive. The most important thing was that she was here now, and if everything went to plan, then she'd be with him in a few hours.

According to his schedule, Harry had been picking up the boat near Narbonne and then heading east. Not very specific, more like little anecdotes really. In a tidy column down the side of each page, he'd made comments about the places that he'd been before and wanted to go again. Marseillan, a small town on the coast seemed to hold some special memories for him. _Lovely _he'd written alongside this_ – a must. _The same applied to Cap d'Agde with notes about _swimming and beach side restaurants._ After that, there were jottings about his memories of the Camargue and its serenity. Wild horses and flamingos were the extent of her knowledge, other than it was vast wasteland left to nature that she'd seen on some TV programme or other. That and that the canal would eventually run parallel with the sea again, with dozens of small towns and villages. Until it crossed a huge salt water lake, which according to his notes was - _very special._

Before that and where she and Tariq had calculated he'd be by this evening, would be somewhere close to Beziers, or better still in Beziers itself. Which left her with two options. Either a train that would allow her to hop on and off wherever she wanted too, or a short internal flight. If she could get ahead of him so as be there when he arrived, she might stand a better chance of spotting him and hanging on to the element of surprise. Far safer than him knowing that she was looking for him.

Opting for the train, _she'd done her quota of flying, _she left the hotel around mid - morning and took the bus to the station. Here again, memories of past holidays in France and how different the trains were compared to those in the UK, she joined an orderly queue for her ticket. It was hot, much hotter than she'd anticipated and she was glad that she'd thought to buy herself a bottle of water. She'd managed to pick up some leaflets about the canal network and was busily reading them, at the same time as she was listening to a French family talking about their planned holiday. Father, mother and their two small boys, who'd been told to behave when they'd been arguing over which of their football teams was the best, had caught her attention. People who lived in a world that she would never be able to inhabit as long as she worked where she did, she turned her mind back to what _was_ achievable and the reason she was here. Maybe and it was still a maybe, if she could sort out this mess with Harry, she could have something that amounted to normal, was overtaken by the fact that the train was now running parallel with the canal. Obvious really, given that they were both heading in the same direction. And there they were, brightly coloured boats that were barely moving or were moored up in front of what looked like a lock, any one of which could be Harry's. Gone in the blink of an eye as the canal disappeared from sight. Until forty minutes later and as the train started to slow down and then stop, with a deep sigh, she scrabbled for her case and stepped out into a cauldron of heat.

The town of Beziers, like many other towns in this area of France, had been and still was a fortress, said the guide book that Ruth had picked up. High on the top of a hill, it was only reachable via steep streets lined with three story houses that had stood there for centuries. But before attempting the climb and needing to gather her thoughts, she'd decided to head for the canal side and hopefully enjoy a late lunch. The food if not the waiting. Planning was one thing, executing it was another as she sat people watching, none of whom were Harry. Causing her to question what to do next. Although there was no denying the fact that he'd asked her to marry him and had planned this holiday as a honeymoon, the question still remained. What if Harry had changed his schedule, as unlikely as that was? He tended to stick to what he planned, or at least he did at work. She knew how fast the boats travelled, Tariq had researched that. But what they hadn't been able to factor in, was how often Harry might stop. He might already be here? Not that she could knock on doors or peer through windows, for clues as to which if any of the boats might be his. If he didn't turn up, she was going to have to ring Tariq and see if he'd heard from him. Although why Harry would have contacted Tariq, she had no idea? It was more her need to hear a friendly voice. If she didn't find Harry by bedtime, then staying in the only hotel at canal level, because she sure as hell didn't want to drag her case into town, would involve her booking into the Hotel du Gare. She'd already had a brief look and it had the distinct appearance of somewhere where she'd want to be absolutely sure that her door was locked, and still wouldn't be able to sleep.

* * *

While Ruth had been pondering the mysteries of boating and what she'd say when she found him, at the same time as she'd been gazing out of the window at a landscape where the grass was burnt brown by the sun, Harry had been in the queue for the latest of the several locks that he had to negotiate. Not an easy thing to do on your own, when it was Summer and boats that had been miles apart tended to bunch up. But he wasn't in any hurry. He knew how it was. And this was as good a place as any to take a break until things quietened down. Once he got through, he'd be on his own for pretty much the rest of the day. The only trouble with that theory, was that when he put it into practice, it gave him more time to think. Thinking meant reflecting on what would have been if Ruth had been with him and that wasn't healthy. He knew that. He'd been an idiot to think that him getting away would help him to clear his head, and that the solitude, which let's face it he coped with almost every day, would make him feel better. It didn't. It only served to heighten his need of her. At least there were plenty of moorings and this did seem like a quiet spot. The railway line that had run parallel earlier and where he'd watched a train going past, seemed to have veered away. Presumably to where he was heading?

So why not kill and hour or two, by going below deck and shutting his eyes. If he fell asleep it wouldn't matter and at least he be able to obliterate the reality of having to spend the next two weeks on his own. But sleep wouldn't come. It rarely did these days. There had to be a way, something that he could do to get her to change her mind?

His phone which was lying on the pillow beside him, rang for the third time, or it would have done if he hadn't switched it off. It was Ros.

'Harry call me.'

'Harry turn your bloody phone on.'

'Harry. Assuming that you're still alive and before you start panicking, just listen. I have no idea where you are and nor do I want to know. But the boy wonder whose sitting next to me and currently wetting his pants, does. What I've also managed to drag out of him, is that Ruth's upped sticks and flown to France. Now I hate to be a snitch. But I'm guessing that she hasn't gone over there for the shopping, as pleasant as that might be. So if you can drag yourself away from whatever it is that you're currently doing and stay put, she might stand a better chance of finding you. In which case this won't be a wasted call.'

* * *

Having forgotten that they closed the locks at seven and while Ruth was sitting in her room at the House of Horrors, before she headed back to the quayside for dinner, Harry was mooring up within a mile of where she was. Holed up for the night, with the delights of the old town and Ruth in particular, plus a meal at a quayside restaurant at his fingertips, it was still daylight and would be for several hours. But could he be bothered to walk the mile along the towpath, when it would be so much easier to eat in? Was something that he didn't need to think about until he'd had a cup of coffee.


	4. Chapter 4

Having planned on eating alone, in the vain hope that Harry might materialise, no sooner had Ruth sat down, than the waiter had asked her if she'd mind sharing her table. Moving his food around the plate, in a way which suggested that this was a practised art, her companion, Pierre something or other, had proceeded to describe the problems that he had with his digestive system. Not when I'm eating she'd wanted to scream. Ten minutes later, by which time, he'd complained about the heat, _oh really she hadn't noticed,_ and the state of his marriage, and she was clutching at straws. Anything that could get her away from this man. Her rescue had come in the form of the waiter, who had been watching from the sidelines. Leaving her bewildered companion to wonder what on earth it was that he'd said to offend her, or worse still if he was starting to lose his touch, wasn't her problem. What was and had most distressed her, was that during the walk back to the hotel, she'd finally given in and tried to ring Harry. Harry who _never_ turned his phone off, apparently had. Which had caused her to have another restless night. Her dreams full of Harry and what might have happened to him. None of which had been good.

Whoever it was, that had said that things always felt better in the morning, hadn't been staying where she was. It had been so hot in bed, that she'd slept naked and with the covers pulled back. The result being, that she'd spent the night with a mosquito. Wonderful that's all she needed, bites that she couldn't reach to scratch. She'd bought some sunscreen at the airport, but had completely forgotten that still water plus heat attracted bugs. Now if Harry had been there it would have been different. She didn't know why, she just knew that it would. Except that Harry wasn't there was he? So now she'd have to make the long trek up into town on her own. To find a pharmacy and then stay here for an extra night. At least this time she wouldn't have to drag her case with her. If the room was anything to go by, then she'd skip breakfast and have something later. What she couldn't avoid, was the need to have what turned out to be a very lukewarm shower. God this just got better and better. That done and wrapped in a towel, she opened her suitcase and looked for inspiration. There wasn't any. Sod the cost, she was here now and she had no intention of going home. She'd treat herself to something nice to wear. She swatted one of the little buggers with her pillow and felt mildly placated.

Although she had to stop several times, in the hope that the people who were passing her would think that she was admiring the view, by the time that she reached the top of the hill, she _did_ feel better. It had been years since she'd had a proper holiday, or had taken more than a day or two off work. Well apart from her recent self-induced absence. To be amongst crowds of people, almost all of whom were French, gave her the anonymity that she wanted. Something that always felt sadly lacking back in London where she was perpetually wary. She also felt bizarrely positive all of a sudden. Not entirely due to the fact, that during the climb, she'd talked herself into believing that she was going to find Harry, no matter how many trains and buses she had to take. And that even if they only got to spend one night together before they had to fly back to London, she'd throw everything into making him happy. Added to which, there was a slight breeze at this level.

Breaking away from the main body of the crowd to explore the side streets, she soon discovered that Beziers was a homely and easy town to negotiate. Even if you were a tourist in the search of the man that you loved. In it's pedestrian only centre, where a military band were playing and young children were marching up and down and pretending to be soldiers, she tore her eyes away from such a normal scene and back to her shopping. She did have a lot of bags. Never mind, when she found Harry, and it was definitely a when and not an if, she wanted to be wearing something that would make him smile. That and forgive her. The two dresses that she'd brought with her, she'd already discarded in her mind and she was currently wearing a new pair of blue cut off trousers and a loose-fitting and by her standards, revealing cotton top. She was just another tourist, not Ruth the analyst, at everyone's beck and call. Better still and for the moment at least, she was managing to put the hotel from hell out of her mind. Just one more night and she'd find herself a more comfortable bed and a decent shower to indulge herself in. Even if it meant her staying in the town as opposed to on the quayside, she found a quiet corner away from the hubbub and ordered a mineral water and a light snack.

* * *

Less than a mile away, from where his beloved had made up her mind to throw body and soul into making him happy, Harry had overslept. Angry with himself that he hadn't made the effort to walk the short distance to his planned overnight mooring and have a decent meal, he was exiting the last of a staircase of locks, that would get him to where he should have been the previous evening. Having missed out on breakfast, in an effort to get back to his schedule, marvelling at the engineering that it had taken to construct this particular part of the waterway, was being overtaken by the fact that he was _very_ hungry. As soon as he moored up, he intended going in search of something to eat. The question as to whether he'd stay on the quayside which would be the easy option, or walk up into town, he hadn't yet decided. Maybe he'd do both? Beziers had been high on his list of priorities as somewhere that he'd wanted to take Ruth. Perhaps he should ring her? But then she'd be at work by now and he really didn't want to be talking to her when she was on the grid. There was no harm in him switching his phone on though was there?

As he fought to gain control, not only of his emotions but the boat, he listened for the umpteenth time to the messages from Ros. The ultimate keep you mind on the job in hand, lost to him, as he narrowly avoided colliding with the boat that was mooring up in front of him. Shouting an apology, he bolted below deck and into the shower room. _Ruth's in France, looking for you, stay put, _all swimming around in his head, at the same time as he tried to refocus and decide what to do next. That and a missed call from Ruth, but no message, not cutting himself while he was shaving was his first obstacle, as he clung to the sink. That she knew what he'd done and had come looking for him, could only be a good thing couldn't it? That she'd changed her mind and wanted to marry him, was maybe a step too far. What if she was already here in Beziers? Presumably she'd be coming back to the quayside at some stage? Which meant that he needed to spend the day here. Not go swanning about in the town centre as he'd planned.

How much time did he have was the next question? Because having already spent three nights on the boat, he hadn't bothered to tidy up. There'd been no need. Now there was, as he towelled himself down and then gathered up what was strewn around the bedroom. Folding it up, he knew was ridiculous, although it was what he did at home. Less creases saved on the ironing. He bet his colleagues thought he used some sort of laundry service – well he didn't. He was quite domesticated really. Years in the army had taught him how to look after himself and had made him who he was. Self-bloody-sufficient. It was just the need of a woman's touch that was lacking in his life and there was only one woman that could fill that gap. The one that understood, that behind the veneer that saw him bellowing at all and sundry to get the result that was needed to keep the nation safe, was a man who desperately wanted to be loved.

Laundry folded up and put away, he changed the bedding. His mind raging with the renewed hope that Ruth might be sleeping with him that night. What if she wasn't? No don't go there he told himself – be positive. The kitchen looked as though a group of teenagers had held a party. Well not entirely, but he had ignored it. One empty wine bottle, the sum total of what he'd consumed over three nights, he thought was good going. Staying away from the whisky was essential when you were in charge of a boat. That and what he'd planned to be a honeymoon, he set about washing the dishes and putting things away, before he tackled the main living area. By which time he was so hot and flustered that he needed another shower. And all before he'd eaten anything.

Having chosen what he thought Ruth would like to see him dressed in, or if she miraculously appeared before he pulled his trousers up, in which case she'd see more than she bargained for, he locked the door and climbed out onto a quayside that was alive with activity. Boats moored with people tidying up the decks and preparing to set off for the day. Families arriving back with their shopping. Other boats coming and going in both directions. Smiling faces that would never know the blind panic and the expectation that was gripping him in equal measure as he looked around him, before going in search of a coffee and if they still had one, an almond croissant.

* * *

Harry wasn't the only member of his family who had spent the morning tidying up. Making up the bed in their spare room, his brother Ben and wife of twenty years Annabelle, were wondering what it was, that had made Harry want to visit them at such short notice. Siblings fell out for all manner of reasons and what they'd done that had caused this particular split, they'd done with the best of intentions. That Harry had seen it as otherwise and they hadn't heard from him in years, they'd long since accepted. They just hoped that he had.


	5. Chapter 5

Ruth had stayed in the square for much longer than she'd intended. Drawn in by the simplicity of her surroundings and how everyone, including her, seemed to be a tourist, she'd finally felt herself relaxing. Unlike the poor beleaguered locals, who were presumably hiding away behind closed doors and praying for the end of the Summer when they'd get their town to themselves again, she'd watched parents, whose children were being placated with ice creams and the promise of a visit to the beach later on. Couples walking arm in arm, a few arguing and looking less than happy, but in the main appearing to be content with their lives and each other, had sent her on a brief guilt trip. Until things had quietened down, when gathering up her purchases and walking back down the hill, she'd found herself humming contentedly. Not one of the deep and meaningful classical pieces that she usually listened to and ended up as an ear worm, but something that had really hit home.

After the band in the square had stopped playing, the piped music which had replaced it, had included some well known songs. As 'Sweet Caroline' had erupted, so had the voices from the people surrounding her. Guaranteed to make her think, that one country wasn't so different from another when it came to music, but that it was a pity that they couldn't come together to form a united world. Until as though they'd known she was there, and more importantly that she was looking for Harry, 'How does a moment last forever? Had floated across the bright blue sky. Well she knew the answer to that question didn't she? As apparently did Celine Dion. 'It was love you must hold onto, not easy but you try.' Implied, that as usual, she'd been overthinking things. Life in general and especially in an ever changing world, where climate change and poverty were always in the headlines, wasn't meant to be easy. No matter who you were or what you did for a living. It was the reason that people longed for their holidays and the chance to escape from the reality of real life for a while. Except in her case, she wasn't trying to escape from reality was she, she was running headlong towards it. And if she could accept that so obvious fact, and that a future with Harry was the one thing that she did have control over, then surely their reunion and what remained of their holiday, would be a happy one? Harry who had asked her to marry him, loved her unreservedly, she knew to be true. It didn't matter that he hadn't told her. No matter how irritating she'd been, or the multiples of wrong signals that she'd thrown at him, he'd stayed resolutely determined. Never in all the time that she'd known him, had he _ever_ raised his voice to her. So why would he do it now? He just wouldn't. So armed with positive thoughts and certainly in case he sailed back into her life this evening, she needed to go back to the hotel and relax for a while. Then hopefully with this new found courage and a clear head, she'd go for a short walk along the towpath before she went in search of dinner. Without Pierre whatshisname as her companion for a second evening was a priority, although she could understand that in the height of the season, how every available seat in a restaurant was guaranteed to be taken.

Arriving back at the hotel, she remembered that she thought to close the shutters before she'd left. Faced with a staircase to reach the second floor, she opened her door and walked into a blissfully cool room. Feeling a lot better than she had done a day ago, the room didn't seem as bad. Maintaining the fiction, entirely due to the upturn in her mood, she turned on one of the bedside lights. Nothing had changed at all. It was just as horrid. Needing to use the bathroom, she scoured the room for mosquitoes. The last thing that she needed was to be bitten on the bum. That done and after a shower and wrapped in her newly bought lightweight robe, she unpacked and shook out the remainder of her purchases. It hardly seemed worth hanging them up, when she'd be moving on in the morning. But she did anyway. What to wear tonight, very much depended on where she chose to eat_ and _if she could continue believing that Harry was going to miraculously appear. But before that delightful prospect, as opposed to spending another evening and night on her own, she needed to wind down for an hour or so. This time, pulling up a sheet to cover her, she closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

As boats had come and gone throughout the remainder of the day, one in particular hadn't moved an inch. Its owner doing what came as naturally as breathing. Stretched out on a sunbed on the top deck and under an umbrella to protect him from the sun, whilst pretending to be reading a book that he'd found in one of the cupboards, Harry had been concentrating on his one man leisurely, if somewhat nervous stakeout. Wearing sun glasses and with a couple of cans of beer, some cheese and some fruit in a cool box beside him, proving to anyone that was watching that he did know how to look after himself, he looked every bit the relaxed tourist. Except that he wasn't, he was a man on a mission, with only one objective. To stay there for as long as it took. Trips below deck to use the bathroom had been inevitable, but apart from that he'd never moved. And all because, after several fruitless attempts to contact Ruth, he'd bitten the bullet and had spoken to Tariq. _She knows where you are Harry, she has a copy of your plans, so assuming that you're sticking to them, she's wherever you are, _had been followed a stuttering apology that he'd dismissed. That Ruth had been in a dreadful state when she raced off the grid, which Tariq had taken to mean that she was full of regrets and did want to marry him, had seen Harry's hopes rising, along with his determination to stay put all week if necessary.

_She's got a copy of your plans, _meant that with her analytical mind, she'd have studied his jottings. Having planned this holiday a long time ago, in fact for twenty years if he was honest with himself, he could barely remember what he'd written. Other than he'd always known that at some time or other and certainly before it was too late, that he'd force himself to make this trip and make peace with his brother. Once Ruth had come into his life, it hadn't been a case of maybe, it had become a case of how soon he would do it. The idea that Ruth would be his wife when he did, had only been added recently. Of all people, she was the one person that would understand what a blow it had been at the time, and be able to help him through what he knew was going to be a difficult re union. The only reason that he'd never told her, was that she'd have seen it as him putting pressure on her to come with him. In those early days, when there'd been nothing between them, other than she'd always been the one to read between the lines of his insecurity, swanning off to the South of France with his analyst would have been seen to be seedy. Was this why he hadn't pressured her? He liked to think it was. As opposed to putting off the inevitable, by having to admit that he should have been less hasty in his condemnation and in particular of Annabelle.

* * *

Back below deck, he showered and washed his hair for the third time that day. Having booked one of the few tables for two that evening, somewhere that he thought Ruth would like, by seven and with people gathering together along the quayside, he was beginning to feel nervous again.

Now the decision was what to wear – god he was beginning to think like a woman. His shirts all neatly pressed were hanging in the wardrobe, he settled on white. Not because it looked any better than any of the others that he'd brought with him, he just had to make a choice. That and pulling on some dark blue slacks and he was almost ready to face the music and hopefully Ruth. Smoothing out the bed covers and taking a quick look around the bedroom to make sure it was tidy, he tucked his wallet safely into his back pocket, said a prayer to the god that he didn't believe in and climbed the ladder up onto the deck. _One small step for man,_ he walked as steadily as he could, in the direction of the restaurant.


	6. Chapter 6

Never in his entire life, had Harry experienced so much pain and so much pleasure in the space of one single moment, as he sat and watched Ruth having a conversation with a waiter. No more than thirty metres from where he was sitting, he knew that she was being told that they were already fully booked.

How he reacted, very much depended on what she did next and happened very quickly. He signalled to his waiter, confirming that he would be back as soon as he could, and yes please, he did want them to hold his table for two. There were two more restaurants that Ruth could try, one he knew didn't have a table, as was the case at the other one apparently, when she turned away. The last thing that he wanted, was for their reunion to be in front of half the population of France, or to be arrested as a stalker, so as much as heart was telling him to run and put her out of her misery, he took a deep breath and with all the willpower that he could muster, followed her at what he though was a safe distance. Walking at a steady pace, whilst at the same time trying to school his expression, _for the benefit of the people who were heading in the opposite direction - who was he kidding, _he realised that Ruth was starting to speed up. Had he not already seen her face, then there would have been every chance that he wouldn't have recognised her. Never in his life had he seen her dressed in something that showed as much flesh. God he was in trouble. And not only because his eyes were glued to her back, where her hair was bouncing it's way across her naked shoulders. He had no idea where she was heading, although she clearly knew the street layout a whole lot better than he did, because from being almost in front of him, suddenly she was way ahead. At which point he increased his pace, in a desperate bid to keep up with her. Not easy to do in a crowd of people. What he hadn't banked on, was that the side streets would be poorly lit. He peered along the first. No Ruth as far as he could see, or in the second. Well the hell was she? The result being that he started to hyperventilate, causing a couple who were walking in the opposite direction, to catch hold of his arm and ask him if he needed any help.

Trying his best to keep his temper, 'no thank you he was fine,' he lied to the concerned faces, who didn't believe him and hung onto him for what seemed like an age, before they finally let him go.

Now what? There was no sign of her. Trying, but now failing not to run, as the panic increased, he tossed a metaphorical coin and turned left. The luck of the devil, the bond that had always kept them together, he didn't know which, but as he skidded to a halt at what appeared to be a dead end, he was confronted by a high stone wall. On the left of him was a primary school and on the right, in a small courtyard that was accessed through a wrought iron gate, in a garden that was designed for children's play, completely on her own stood Ruth. Her eyes fixed on the flower beds that were in front of her and with her arms wrapped around her waist, she looked utterly beautiful.

Why the hell he decided to use the tried and tested 'I've booked a table. It's somewhere that I think you'll like,' as opposed to just saying 'Ruth it's me', he got away with. She'd have been well within her right to have screamed, given that he was breathing heavily when he crept up behind her and had blocked out any chance of escape. Instead of which she threw herself into his arms, with every indication that for once in his life he'd done the right thing. Had his stomach not rumbled, then the table for two might well have stayed empty and he'd have dragged her, well perhaps not dragged, but certainly persuaded her to go straight back to the boat. Especially as the aforementioned flesh that he'd briefly savoured, was moving beneath his hands, with the promise that if he behaved himself, that he'd get to see the rest of it. Mumbling into his shoulder and rubbing his back, Ruth was making a damn good job of answering all his yet to be asked questions, with a 'yes'.

The decision to eat something ahead of what Harry was daring to think about as _the closest thing to heaven, _although not put into words, they decided together. Ruth having calmed down and him having got himself back to what approximated normal, they walked hand in hand back to the restaurant and to the table that he'd booked.

On a raised level with a clear view of the waterfront, where the lights, that were not dissimilar to those along the Thames were just beginning to come on, they ate slowly. With their eyes flicking between their food and each other, they said very little. There was no need, they were both playing out the dance. The one that would eventually lead them to the end of the evening and to a night that they both knew would bring them to a place that had been longed for, but rejected far too many times. Him determined not to presume or mention marriage, and Ruth, who'd spent the last few days on a roller coaster of indecision, to surrender herself to Harry and to tell him that she loved him.

'No thank you, they didn't want coffee,' Harry told the waiter who was hovering. Not that he thought they would. He'd known from the moment that this couple had arrived that there was something different about them. The man's uncertainty when he'd booked the table, the woman's sense of relief when he'd pulled her chair out so that she could sit down. Never once taking her eyes off the man that was so obviously in love with her. He knew where this night was heading. He mentally wished them good luck. He was also looking forward to a decent tip and wasn't disappointed.

* * *

That Ruth needed to collect her things from the hotel, slowed things down for a short while. Apart for their heart rates and the mounting anticipation, as Harry sat on the bed where she'd slept the previous night, watching her pack clothes that screamed of Summer. Her telling him that the room was horrible was an understatement. Him telling her that where she'd be sleeping for the next twelve nights would be anything but, was a promise that he intended to keep. Before they headed back out into the still night air and with him pulling her case across the cobbles, they walked the short distance to where the boat was moored.

'Harry, I know why you're smiling, I was just wondering what you're thinking?' She asked him, as he closed and locked the door behind them, before pulling the curtains and shutting out the rest of humanity. The air around them, suddenly in short supply.

'Really?'

'Yes, and truly.'

_I've got a large manual that tells me what I have to do to look after this boat. It tells me which buttons I have to press, so as not to damage it in any way. But as far back as the moment when you first walked onto the grid, until perhaps earlier this evening, you've had a sign hanging over your head, telling me that you need to be handled with care._ Was the honest answer that he had no intention of giving her.

He was also determined not to rush things, despite the fact that it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to do so. This was a pivotal moment. One that he'd dreamt about and then had to discard, more times than he could remember. Until tonight during dinner when she'd held his gaze, open and assured. When her breathing had changed into ragged movements, just as it was doing now. Except that this wasn't just about sex, at least not for him. He wanted to make this night an endless one. One that didn't involve much sleep, but where they'd still take their time. To be remembered for years to come. Not one where they'd race into the bedroom for a quick shag and be done with it.

'I'm still thirsty, so I'll put the kettle on while you have a look around and unpack.' He told her in answer to her question.

_Was he seriously thinking that she wanted a cup of tea, because she bloody well didn't. She wanted him, now, in bed, making love to her. First night nerves? Surely not? This was Harry. What next? Was he going to suggest that they had a game of cards before they got undressed? __Plus, and this was a question that she knew the answer to. If this offer of a cup of tea was him trying to deflect her away from noticing the movement in his trousers, then he was making a really bad job of it. She'd seen it when they'd been walking back from the hotel and she could see it again now. If Harry wanted to stretch this moment out and not rush her, then there was only so much time before she'd have to push him._ _At dinner, when he'd looked at her in a way that had set her heart racing, he'd said very little. But then he hadn't needed too, it was obvious what he'd been thinking. The same thing as her. So, providing that he didn't intend to keep this dance going beyond the cup of tea he was making for her, she'd try to continue to breathe. Because he wasn't the only one whose body was responding unchecked and, in her case causing her to feel very warm. Living out, what up until now had been just a fantasy, the one where she'd drag him into the bedroom and out of his clothes for a night of unstoppable passion, WAS going to happen._

'Just what I need,' she told him, flashing him one of her well practised 'you have to be kidding me' expressions,' when he handed her a cup of tea.


	7. Chapter 7

'I don't care which side of the bed I sleep on Harry, please can we just-,' was where Ruth stopped short of stating the blindingly obvious. A response to the time that it was taking him to make the move that would get them into bed. Or as Harry saw it, his determination to savour every glorious moment. A sentiment, that written across Ruth's face when they finally abandoned their clothes, was indicative of the delay, during an exchange that saw them staring across the room at each other's nakedness. Her wrapping her arms around her waist being pointless, whereas in Harry's case, confirming his long held belief, that a naked Ruth was every bit as beautiful as he'd imagined her to be.

Now when the hours of darkness, during which time Harry's ability to induce multiple orgasms for Ruth, had eclipsed everything that she'd previously imagined, was being replaced by the dawn chorus, they were still in bed. Harry having been awake for some time had been to the bathroom, whereas Ruth had been drifting in and out of sleep. How Harry would respond if she rolled over towards him and with her eyes still closed, called him darling, she soon found out. Unlike the previous evening when he'd built her up at a gentle pace, her arousal this morning was instantaneous. Pretty obvious really, given that he now knew exactly what she wanted. The question as to how long she'd be able to maintain the fiction that she wasn't fully conscious, very much depended on whether his lips, which had joined the party and were making their way across breasts, were heading for her nipples. As it was, she could already feel his erection growing hard against her. Something that last night, he'd somehow managed to calm until she'd been ready, was pressing against her thigh.

This was a different Harry, a confident Harry. One who knew that whatever he did or said, that she'd go with it. A Harry that come hell or high water, she _was_ going to marry.

Half an hour later and working on the premise that Ruth's open invitation meant that she was up for anything.

'These fantasies that you've been having, am I anyway close to making them a reality?' He asked her in a gravelly voice that did little to calm her still raging imagination.

Having rejected his original idea of making an early start, he was climbing back into bed having made them some breakfast. Confirming in Ruth's mind that their ability to do or talk to each other, as opposed to running away at the first sign of anything that amounted to steamy was real, she was responding by looking at him in a way that her previous self would have deemed wanton.

_Well apart from on the beach and the sea where they'd make love _was her secret, so 'maybe,' she teased him. 'Although I'll never forget Beziers, that's for sure,' she added. Thinking how gorgeous he was when he was like this. How happy she was, but still wanting to prod him just enough so that he'd keep this banter going.

He loved 'maybe'. He could remember her saying it years ago, on a day when her eyes had sparkled at him as they were now.

'That's good.' He whispered. Settling for what he always said when she was happy. This time causing a brief look of disappointment on her face. Well if she wanted more than breakfast, then she'd have to wait or they'd never get out of bed. Having already planned where they were going to spend the evening and the night. Somewhere that was less crowded, where they didn't have to worry about the neighbours overhearing what was going on, they couldn't lie here all day.

'Croissant?' he offered her, pulling his arm back as she reached out towards the plate, just far enough so that she had to lean into him and he could slow her progress._ To hell with breakfast it was highly overrated._

* * *

Having left their mooring a little after ten and with Ruth having got her mind back onto something that didn't involve them staying in bed for the rest of their lives, they were sitting side by side on the top deck, chugging along contentedly.

'You're really good at this,' she told him in all seriousness and without the innuendo of the early morning, as he seamlessly steered into what amounted to the right hand lane, as another boat came towards them. Harry completely confident and relaxed when handling the boat, whereas it was a totally new concept for her. Climbing below deck to make his morning coffee and at the same time watching the world go by outside at a snail's pace, then clambering back where Harry was steering and looking at home in these surroundings, was surreal. Wearing trousers, as opposed to the shorts that she now knew he had with him, because he'd end up with very burnt legs if he didn't, she'd been picturing in her mind. Being on the water certainly kept the temperature down, when in reality, it was just as hot as it had been the previous day, she hadn't needed to be told, but had accepted as Harry wanting to look after her.

'Would you like to have a go at steering?' Wasn't something she'd considered.

'Maybe when we reach a broader section of the canal and they'll be less chance of me ramming the boat into the bank,' she told him. The guidebook supplied by the hire company, which showed whoever was steering, or in her case wanted to learn the ins and outs of living on a boat before she did anything stupid, spread out on her lap, was bringing a look of real tenderness to Harry's face. Even here, Ruth's inquisitive mind wasn't about to shut down. It soothed him and took away the element of surprise, it always had done. Now he had the added bonus that she'd told him that she loved him, and in her words, wouldn't be going anywhere.

On a quieter section of the canal and as they approached the spot where Harry was planning on mooring up for lunch, 'Ratty and his mates from Wind in the Willows,' brought him out of from his daydream, as Ruth pointed to what looked like a water vole, that was feeding it's family in the reeds that were growing along the canal edge. Something that was an everyday occurrence for these tiny rodents, but had taken them years to achieve, reminding Harry that he was sitting next to his soulmate, as he glanced out of the corner of his eye for the umpteenth time, marvelling at how right it felt that she was with him. His life for once, going at a pace that didn't require him to make any decisions, other than where they'd stop overnight and the need to find a quiet mooring.

* * *

The great thing about the canal and certainly if you'd planned the trip as precisely as Harry had, was that if you stopped at recommended spots, then you had the opportunity to either eat in or out. Staying in an overly remote location wasn't advised, it left you vulnerable to all and sundry, whereas staying somewhere that had all the facilities, whether it be a small village or a large town, was. Your drinking water tank could be topped up, fenders if by chance you happened to have smashed one could be replaced, and in their case the fridge could be replenished.

Being domestic whilst at the same time continuing to feel the frisson that this entirely new situation was causing, a trip around a small supermarket, that despite its size sold everything known to man, Harry was quite happy to push the trolley whilst Ruth picked up and put things down with the art of a practised shopper. One whose legs that had previously been hidden under long skirts, he was admiring and reminding himself were going to be wrapped around his for another ten nights, playing havoc with his libido.

Prior to that and just as the sun was beginning to set across the vastness that surrounded them, having finished dinner, he poured her another glass of wine.

'Harry, tell me about Ben,' she asked him, completely changing the subject by introducing the elephant in the room. Something that in all truth he'd been trying but failing to blank out.

'You _have_ studied my plans, haven't you?' Wasn't meant as a put down and to her credit Ruth didn't rise to it. 'There's not much to tell, other than I need to apologise to him,' he continued, knowing that it wouldn't be enough to placate her, and nor should it, given that he still wanted to marry her and that she'd be meeting his brother in another couple of days.

'It all happened a long time ago, when I had time on my hands and before I joined the service. As did Ben, who was still in the army and had just come back from a stint in Northern Ireland. We just booked a flight and ended up coming here. We hired a car and toured around for a couple of weeks. We had no particular plans, other than to let our hair down before life got serious again. One evening about halfway through the holiday, we ended up at a dance, which was where I met Annabelle. It was on one of those balmy nights when nothing else seems to matter, and she and I ended up spending the night together.

'As in you slept with her?'

'No far from it. Contrary to rumours and as you well know, I am capable of spending an evening with a woman without dragging her into bed. We were camping Ben and I and he'd had too much to drink and had gone to bed early. Annabelle, whose French by the way and I, went for a walk. Then we just sat and talked, or in my case pretty much listened, before I eventually I walked her home. Two days later, one of us had to fly home, because our father had been taken into hospital. We both agreed that it should be me. Annabelle had promised me that she'd keep in touch, but she never did. Ben had that pleasure and as I was reliably informed later, the sex that went with it. I didn't find out until a year later when the wedding invitation arrived and I'm afraid that I reacted rather badly. Ridiculous I know, but it was at a time when I was under a lot of pressure and long before I had you in my life to tell me otherwise. I didn't go to their wedding.'

'So what's changed and why did you choose this place for our honeymoon?'

'Because despite everything that happened, I love this area of France. The nothingness in all directions, somehow makes me feel as though I can achieve anything. I had thought of telling you years ago, but one thing and another always got in the way. We have precious few friends you and I Ruth and Ben is family. It just felt like the right time to make amends.'


	8. Chapter 8

For what could only be described as a fleeting moment, Harry felt as though he had the upper hand, when with the appearance of someone who was brimming with confidence, something that he was dam sure she wasn't, Ruth shook hands, firstly with his brother and then with Annabelle. Preventing him from introducing her as his girlfriend, his partner or worse still just as a friend, she continued to maintain the fiction by telling him she was fine, when Ben suggested that he follow him out into the garden.

* * *

Gazing around the huge open plan kitchen and at the variety of meats, cheeses and a salad that was being plated up, together with the obligatory bottle of wine, Ruth felt anything but fine. Her impulsive nature, yet again having landed her in an uncomfortable situation, this time to help Harry, who by the time that they'd been admitted into the gated courtyard had looked ready to run.

'You have a beautiful home,' she told Annabelle in all honestly. Determining to blank out the vision of Harry living here in this apparent marital bliss, as opposed to Ben. Having seen a photograph that had been taken on their wedding day, on a side table in the hall, she'd had a brief glimpse of the Annabelle that Harry had been so drawn to. An Annabelle that had certainly been beautiful and still was. With the elegance of a woman who appeared to be confident and totally at home in her surroundings, completely at odds with the way she herself was feeling.

'May I use your bathroom?' She asked her smiling host as a means to escape, if only for a moment. Needing to gather her thoughts, before this weird situation involved the four of them eating lunch together and then playing at being a happy family, she was escorted upstairs and shown into the equally pristine guest room. Thanking Annabelle, in a voice that only Harry would have recognised didn't belong to her, she used the bathroom, ran a comb through her hair and then wandered over to the bedroom window in the hope of seeing where he was.

Unlike the front of the house where the arrangement of pots was a carbon copy their neighbours, the back garden was rambling and extensive. Presumably because one or maybe both of their hosts were keen gardeners? Flowers and climbers that screamed of a moderate climate, fruit trees that were laden and pathways, led to what looked like an area than had once been occupied by children. Where a slide that had seen better days and a swing that was now tied up to a large and well-established tree were close to a picnic table. Harry hadn't mentioned that Ben had children, but then presumably he didn't know. Perhaps he has dozens of nieces and nephews, she thought with a tinge of sadness, coupled with exaggeration?

Tearing her eyes away from what Harry might have had and back to him, she realised that there hadn't been a time when she'd viewed him from this sort of perspective. With his back to her and at the far end of the garden, he was standing stock still. With his arms by his sides and with his legs slightly apart, she hoped that the conversation that she was witnessing but couldn't hear, meant that he and Ben were clearing the air and paving the way to what would be an angst free couple of days. There was certainly something that was defining them as brothers, apart from the fact that Ben was taller by some way and looked a good deal more relaxed than Harry did. Even from this distance, she could clearly see the knots in Harry's shoulders and that Ben was doing most, if not all of the talking.

'It looks as though Harry's still as serious as he was back then?' Said a voice in her ear, that made her visibly jump and took all of her strength to enable her to turn around.

She was prevented from saying that she hadn't met him then, in fact she'd have been at school, when Annabelle continued. 'Ben was very different. He laughed all the time and didn't take life so seriously, neither of us did, he was just what I needed. Once Harry went home, well it just happened. I _am_ sorry if we hurt him, but it was such a long time ago. We were young, you know how it is.'

Well Ruth didn't and clearly Harry hadn't either, as Annabelle finally found an asset that applied to the much younger Harry.

'I'll say one thing for Harry though, he was a terrific dancer,' wasn't something that Ruth had experienced and, given where this conversation had been heading, was deviating away from the real point. As wonderful as the prospect of dancing with Harry might be, it wasn't the only thing that Harry had going for him as the previous night had proved. He'd told her that he hadn't slept with Annabelle and she'd believed him. Something that had now been confirmed. He lied for a living, but he had never lied to her. Harry loved her, he was hers, body and soul, so whether or not this was a back handed apology, or a fishing trip for answers about the current Harry, she wasn't about to allow herself to rise to, or be sucked in. Annabelle clearly had no idea what she'd missed out on and she wasn't going to jump to Harry's defence to prove otherwise, so refraining from saying anything that would prolong the conversation and with a mounting need to get back to Harry, she opted for a change of direction.

'Do you need any help in the kitchen?' She asked Annabelle instead.

Having been told that she didn't, so why didn't she go out into the garden and find Harry, she did just that. With Annabelle now temporarily out of her hair, she found Ben walking towards her. The trouble with her being an analyst, was that she did it constantly. So when Ben stopped briefly and in what felt like a much more relaxed conversation, told her that he needed to give Annabelle a hand, she assumed that he was a man that was content with his lot. It was a weekday so maybe he'd taken a day off work? If he had, what did he do? Other than he'd been in the army, she knew little about him, but like Annabelle it was hard to imagine him being anywhere other than in these surroundings. Had he resigned his commission to marry Annabelle and live here? Could she picture her and Harry living somewhere like this? Probably not? They had London running through their veins her and Harry. Too many questions without answers, she excused herself and continued towards Harry. The impulse to run and wrap her arms around his back, to bury her head between his shoulder blades were so strong, that she had to steal herself not to do so. Instead, she waited until she was alongside him and reached for his hand.

'Ben's apologised as have I,' he told her, 'but I'm so glad to see you.' Meant what? That there was more to it? Wasn't there always, but not at the moment.

She wanted to lighten the mood, she needed to lighten the mood, so turning to an alternative that she knew would distract him and before they were summoned in the direction of lunch that she knew was being loaded onto the table, 'Annabelle told me that you used to be a good dancer. Any chance of me finding out?' She asked him.

Harry turned and as he did, the care lines that so often lived on his face disappeared. He smiled. A smile that started in his eyes and spread until it radiated. God she'd missed that smile. Ridiculous, because they'd only been apart for what amounted to moments, but that smile answered her question. In fact it answered all of her questions, especially when he took a step closer until that they were almost touching.

'Yes, there's every chance,' he told her leaning in. 'Ben mentioned that there's some sort of get together in the village this evening, before they celebrate the Festival of the Assumption tomorrow. Dancing's compulsory in France if my memory serves me correctly, and presuming that I can still do it, I'll be expecting a totally different outcome.'

A summons of 'come on you two,' from the other end of the garden, the only thing preventing them from putting it to the test.

Come the evening and feeling slightly more relaxed, having had a lunch that had extended into the late afternoon, during which time far more wine than maybe they'd intended to drink had passed their lips, Harry and Ruth were enjoying the luxury of the guest room. Assured by Ben that they didn't need to be ready until eight and that it was dress down Saturday, they were curled up together on the bed.

'Annabelle and Ben suit each other,' she told Harry, bringing up the subject that needed to be discussed, at the same time as she was running her fingers across his bare chest.

'What makes you say that?'

'I don't know, they just do.'

'That's what Ben said about us.'

'When?'

'When he and I were clearing the table.'

'But he doesn't know me.'

'But he knows me, or at least he knows the old me.'

'Which means what?'

'Ben was in the intelligence core when he was in the army, he reads people in the same way that you do. He said there was something about the way that you look at me and the way I reacted when you walked away. He said it was obvious. I looked lost apparently.'

'And now?'

'What do you think?'

'So, what did you tell him?'

'Are you fishing for compliments?'

'Possibly. Maybe. Harry just tell me.'

'Well then, I told him the truth. I told him that I'm in love with you and I have been for years. That he was right and that I'd be utterly lost with out you.'

'Quite a speech.'

'Not at all like me.'

Now whose fishing for compliments?' Anyway what did Ben say?'

'Nothing, he didn't get a chance, because that's when Annabelle called him.'

'Talking of Annabelle.'

'Let's not.'

* * *

The village was certainly buzzing with people, as Ruth found them a quiet corner that wouldn't involve them spending the entire evening with Ben and Annabelle. It wasn't in an effort to distance themselves from the festivities Harry had told them, it was because they wanted to enjoy the evening without being introduced to the entire village. Something that Ben had accepted with a smile, told them to enjoy themselves and with a wink at Harry, had told him that they'd catch up later, or not as the case may be. That the spare key to the house was in the garden shed and if he didn't see them until the next morning it didn't matter, had been his parting shot. Something that Ruth hadn't heard. Armed with a couple of glasses of wine and a plate of food that was perilously close to ending up on the floor, Harry was weaving his way towards her, with more than one thought about the promises he intended to keep.


	9. Chapter 9

By the end of the evening and as the party broke up, Harry still hadn't asked Ruth to dance. 'He was keeping that for a time when they didn't have an audience.' He'd told her.

Not wanting to fuel the fire of their hosts imagination any further, they'd walked back to the house with Ben and Annabelle. Then having refused the offer of another drink and after a brief goodnight, they'd headed up to bed, where again they'd resisted what had been an overwhelming desire for intimate contact. 'What they had and what they did was theirs alone to enjoy.' He'd said again, when he'd kissed her goodnight and then spooned himself in behind her.

* * *

The cool of the previous evening had been replaced by a warm and sunny morning and with it, the long-awaited appearance of Harry dressed in his shorts and Ruth, in a yet to be viewed sun dress, under which she was wearing a bikini. Both topped off by their need to wear sun hats, they were following Ben and Annabelle across the canal bridge in the direction of the beach. Still striving to keep the lid on his overriding desires where Ruth was concerned, Harry was managing. Although, when Ben had woken them up, with the offer of a cup of tea and the suggestion that they might enjoy an early morning swim and then have breakfast on the beach, he'd almost broken out into song.

Now that they're there and with Ben's car being the only one that's parked on the long stretch of road that runs alongside the sea, it's easy for him to see why this is a good idea. It's early, barely past seven, much too early for those who had been celebrating late into the evening. Ben's right, and the beach is completely deserted.

'How often do you come here?' Ruth asked in all innocence and in an effort to break the silence, only to be told, 'as often as I can' from a smiling Ben.

Unable to put the I and not the we out of her mind and the fact that Annabelle seemed to be a lot less chatty than she had been the previous day, she tried again.

'I'm curious, why did come we come in the car when this is so close to the village?'

'One car is all that it takes for the bread man to stop, especially if it's mine,' inferred that Ben had his breakfast here most mornings and was something that Harry also picked up on. Annabelle had barely said a word all morning, so maybe life in paradise wasn't as wonderful as he'd always imagined it to be? He definitely needed to have a longer chat with his brother on his own, this evening if possible, rather than leave it until just before he and Ruth headed off the following morning.

Turning his attention back to Ruth and the need to get his mind back onto something less depressing than the possible state of his brother's marriage, he took in the vista in front of him. Unlike the majority of beaches at home which were either covered in feet cramping pebbles or required a long walk across sand, only to have the pleasure of swimming in freezing cold water, this one looked blissfully inviting. Now that he had the sand between his toes and with the early morning sun already casting some heat, he was contemplating the added bonus, which he assumed neither Ben or Annabelle had picked up on, that this would be the first time that he and Ruth have ever been on a beach together, never mind swum in the sea before breakfast, as egged on by Ben, he followed Ruth's barely covered body, that his eyes had been feasting on.

'Go ahead we'll catch up with you in a moment,' Ben had told his brother, wanting to watch Harry and Ruth, who he knew without a doubt were in the early stages of their relationship. Twenty years he'd been with Annabelle, and he could barely remember how those first heady months had felt. In Harry's case, he'd known from the moment that he clapped eyes on Ruth and watched her and his brother gazing at each other, that they were in love. Really in love, in a way that should and would be sustained if they could only get past their obvious insecurities. A love which Harry truly deserved. And that Harry's _we don't want to be introduced to half the village, we just want to enjoy the atmosphere _from the previous evening, had been a load of bollocks. Who had he been kidding? There were still so many more questions that he wanted to ask Harry. How and where had he met Ruth? What did she do for a living? He was putting his money on her being a linguist. She was clearly much younger than Harry was, but they carried it off so well that it was barely noticeable. Not that it mattered, it was being happy that was important, especially after all the years that he now knew Harry had spent on his own. He'd meant what he'd said when he'd told him that he and Ruth looked good together, because it was the truth. Even more so, now that he was watching them running into the sea.

With his sun glasses at the ready and his towel strategically positioned so that he could watch them without it being obvious, he lay down on the sand beside his wife, turned on his side and smiled inwardly. A wife, who before they left the house, he'd told to stop trying to make amends, when she'd told him that she'd been struggling to have a conversation with Ruth.

'Ruth's lovely. Just give them both time and space to relax and enjoy themselves. It will get easier.' He'd told her. Feeling the all too familiar vibes that were bouncing off her in waves. Knowing full well that Annabelle was fighting her own inner battle, with her conscience and her desire fulled memories from another lifetime. But when wasn't she?_ Please Annabelle don't spoil this, not today,_ he'd left unspoken.

* * *

It was all very well for Ben to have told her that it would get easier, but it wasn't him who had been totally taken aback when Harry had turned up with Ruth. A different Harry who at the time when she had first met him had been less, what was the expression that had briefly crossed her mind before she'd opened the door? Less reachable than Ben had been. Except, and here was the real crux of the matter, a Harry that if he'd told her that he wanted to make love to her that night on the beach, she'd have let him. Willingly. He'd had an aura about him that had fascinated her. A gorgeous body, what she'd seen of it and his hair had been so much blonder than Ben's. A real turn on, in a way that had captured her imagination, to the point of _really_ wanting him. The complete package that she'd let slip through her fingers, who was now clearly in love with another woman.

It wasn't that she hadn't been happy with Ben because she had, and still was to a degree, but there had always been the lingering what if, that had resurrected itself from the moment that they'd received Harry's message saying that he wanted to visit them. A desire that she'd hoped she'd be able to keep under control, but as soon as she'd seen him, had confirmed that despite the years, that she still found him unbelievably attractive. Made worse now, because as she watched him in the water with Ruth's arms wrapped around his neck, he was giving her the attention that could have been hers.

'I'm so pleased for Harry, just look at him, he's so happy.' She chose to ignore. If this was Ben trying to wind her up, then he was bloody well succeeding.

* * *

On a planet of their own.'They won't even be watching,' Harry told Ruth as he encouraged her to swim out of her depth and join him by treading water. With the promise that they'd do this again in a couple of days, but in the evening, Harry's feet were firmly on the sand in both senses, as he encouraged Ruth to put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Unable to resist the temptation to pull them down so that they'd disappeared below the surface and then pull up again, so that a well and truly soaked Ruth who was laughing and looking more lovely than ever, would cling even closer to him, was just another thing that was being viewed from the beach. In wonder by Ben and with a building fury from the green-eyed monster that was growing inside Annabelle's head. Only being saved from making a real exhibition of herself, when the breakfast cart arrived, she grabbed her purse and mumbling to herself that 'she bet her bottom dollar that Harry still liked his almond croissant,' she headed out of earshot to buy them all breakfast and at the same time take one of her pills.

Staying in the sea and totally unaware of what was happening on the beach, Ruth was way beyond caring what anyone else was thinking. She and Harry were floating on their backs side by side, Harry was holding her hand as she looked up into a bright blue sky and with the promise that they'd be doing this again, but next time under a starlit sky, she was in heaven. Just one of the things that she'd dreamt about and what she now knew he'd planned, when he'd chosen this location for their honeymoon. Moments that they'd store away and talk about when they'd both left the service, which he could almost believe might happen.

Harry for his part, might have been floating on his back, but in his head he was floating on air. Three days ago he'd believed that all was lost to him and yet here they were, together. Having omitted to tell Ruth that this was just the start, of what was going to be a wonderful ten days, in locations that were just made for a holiday with someone that you loved, and that he could guarantee if she wanted to make love on a deserted beach at night, then he was damn well going to make it happen, he thanked his lucky stars. Annabelle – Annabelle who?


	10. Chapter 10

'Just me I'm afraid,' Ben called out as he walked along the towpath towards Harry, carrying a large bunch of flowers for Ruth and giving his elder brother a bear hug when he reached him. A nice surprise and a sense of relief as far as Harry was concerned, given that by the time they'd arrived back at the house at lunchtime, the atmosphere had reached iceberg proportions. Something that had caused him to make excuses for them to leave almost immediately, more for Ruth's sake than for his, although not before inviting both Ben and Annabelle to dinner that evening. 'With an explanation and or an apology,' he'd told Ben.

Ruth who had been the unspoken butt of Annabelle's icy blast, during the short time before had Harry bailed them out, received an equally enthusiastic hug from Ben. Having previously wondered how she was going to cope in a confined space with the inhospitable Annabelle, while Harry had what he was adamant was going to be a 'what the hell's going on here chat' with Ben, the relief that she was feeling as she watched Harry pour two glasses of beer was palpable. Not only to Harry, but she suspected to Ben as well. Turning her attention back to putting the finishing touch to the meal, she was more than happy to watch as the two of them headed back outside. Whatever this was, was between Harry and Ben and as relieved as she might feel that Annabelle had decided, for whatever reason to stay at home, she was still the outsider here.

'I'll be fine, you to go and have a chat, I'll shout if I need a hand,' she called after them. Something that was so in contrast to what Ben was used to, that he was almost tempted to forget what he really needed to get off his chest and just get on and enjoy the evening. Except evenings like this were rare, almost unheard of and whether or not he saw Harry and Ruth again, almost certainly depended on him giving them an explanation. And, and this was the main reason for him coming, if he couldn't talk to his brother, who could he talk to?

Reining in his deep-seated desire to tell Ben that Ruth was his priority and that if he hadn't been his brother then he wouldn't have been sitting there, Harry was wondering what he could say that sounded less controversial, when Ben cut him short.

Telling Harry that the last thing he wanted, was for this evening to end before it had started, so please would Harry just listen, in what he described was going to be a potted version, he went on to tell Harry, that Annabelle had inherited her father's jealousy and anger management problems. Most of the time, and most meant exactly that, she was a normal and happy woman. Until, even small things, which in her imagination made her feel as though she was being sidelined, and her personality changed dramatically. She had never been physically violent or a danger to herself or to anyone else, it was always verbal, laced with long silences. Which involved him watching and waiting until she calmed down. Trying to pacify her only made things worse, but over time he'd conditioned himself to cope.

They'd only been married for about a month, when she'd told him that their initial getting together had been because he, Harry that was had rejected her. A real plummet to his ego at the time as he was sure Harry could imagine, but they were married by then and he'd been determined to make a go of it.

Why had he stuck at it? Because he'd really loved Annabelle and still did. In fact so much so, that after the first year when they'd been living just outside London, he'd resigned his commission from the army so that they could move back to France. Cutting what was a very long story short, once her father died, which was only a couple of years ago, they finally had enough money to buy the house that they were now living in. _No nieces or nephews thought Harry, remembering what Ruth had suggested. _The new house had helped to calm things down for a while. It had given Annabelle the chance to occupy herself as they'd made it their own. So much so that when they'd received his letter to say that he was coming to see them, Annabelle had been ecstatic.

'So why the animosity towards Ruth?' asked Harry, who even now hadn't quite made the connection.

'Time, even twenty years is irrelevant to Annabelle, so when she opened the door to find not only you but Ruth standing there and the two of you looking so _together_, I knew immediately that the toys were destined to go flying out of the pram. I then added fuel to the fire by telling her that Ruth was lovely,' he told him, only to be interrupted when Ruth called out to say that dinner was nearly ready and please would Harry lay the table.

'Can you believe that I've never told another living soul about this until tonight,' concluded what had been such an outpouring from Ben, that resulted in the usually reticent Harry when it came to matters of the heart and other people's problems in particular, telling him that he wished to god that he'd been in touch years ago. Handing Ben the cutlery and then heading back downstairs to pop the cork on a bottle of wine and help Ruth carry the plates back up onto the deck, he was well aware that there was every chance that Ruth had overheard what had been said.

Ruth had, but just bits and bobs. How could she not when they were in the middle of nowhere and there wasn't another sound, other than from the occasional birds that had been heading home to bed. But having heard Ben tell Harry that he wanted to change the subject and that he'd leave it to him to tell her what he'd said later, she needed to play her part. Smiling as broad a smile as she could muster, not a difficult thing to do with Annabelle not being there, she followed Harry across the deck and sat down at the table facing the two brothers, who now that they were sitting so close together, looked more alike than she'd realised.

As far as Ben was concerned, Ruth was a breath of fresh air and a bloody sight more to Harry if the scene that he'd watched in the sea this morning and the sudden change in brother's body language now, was anything to go by. Harry had already told him that he was in love with Ruth, but other than that he knew nothing about their relationship. Without Annabelle being there he was off the hook for the evening, he could say anything that he wanted to and he intended to. Harry was his brother and he loved him. He'd off loaded his burden to the only person that he really trusted. They'd buried their differences and now was his chance to do a bit of pressing.

'How long have you two been living together?' He asked, looking from one to the other. A starting point and the obvious question, as he watched both of their forks stop in mid-air and causing them to look at each other.

'We don't, it's a long story.' Harry finally managed, topping up Ruth's almost full glass of wine as a a means of distraction, followed up by an even longer pause, during which time Ben watched Ruth's unspoken 'well go on then tell him' to Harry.

Blood out of a stone. Nothing had changed with the personal where Harry was concerned. Infuriatingly stubborn as he'd always been, except that they weren't kids anymore. Those days were long gone and this might be the only chance that he got for a long time to poke the proverbial snake into action.

'With all due respect,' he told Harry, with a look on his face that he hoped would make Harry realise that he wasn't going to be satisfied with an answer other than a truthful one, he went for it. 'At your age big brother, you shouldn't be dealing in long stories, you should be enjoying your life in pages,' he told him, in a voice filled with such sincerity, that it reminded Harry of something that Malcolm had once said to him when he'd been prevaricating about his relationship with Ruth. More than that, Ben had hit the nail right on the head. Why hadn't he just suggested to Ruth that they live together?

Saved from making a reply, 'Harry's asked me to marry him,' said a small voice from the other side of the table.

'And?' Asked two voices. One as a question and the other with a look of real expectancy. Neither of them getting an answer.

The remainder of the evening was taken up by the two of them, telling Ben the truth, or most of it. That this was the first time they'd been on holiday together and that the idea of a boat had been a spur of the moment idea on Harry's part. How the peace and quiet that the canal was giving them, meant that they were finally winding down. More than that, it was affording them the privacy that they wouldn't have had in a hotel.

'Besides which I'm too old for camping,' Harry threw in, in the hope that it would move things along to something that didn't involve Ruth putting her foot in it again, going on to tell Ben about the various places that they were planning to visit before they had to fly home. Until right on cue, Ruth who by then had consumed one glass too many, told Ben that if she'd said yes, that this would have been their honeymoon.

'And?' Asked Ben again, with the same result.

* * *

All too soon the evening came to an end, when in the distance the church clock struck ten and Ben said he ought to be going. Not without Harry making Ben promise that he'd keep in touch and that if he ever needed any help in the future, that he'd be over like a shot.

'Leave the tidying up it can wait until the morning, let's go for a walk.' Harry told Ruth, grabbing a blanket. He was too strung up to sleep, he needed to breathe and to digest what Ben had told him. He needed time with Ruth away from the confines of the boat. So following the same path that they'd walked that morning until they'd reached the same spot where they'd eaten breakfast, he lay down on his back and gazed up at the night sky.

Ruth knew that whatever Harry was about to tell her was going to take the gloss off what had been a lovely few hours with Ben, but that leaving it until the morning was only going to prolong the agony. Patience always paid off when it came to Harry and that this was one of those times that she needed to keep silent.

Eventually after a long pause, he finally spoke. At the end of which he was looking at her in the same way that he'd looked dozens of times over the years. A look that told her that he believed that he'd let someone down. But Ben wasn't a colleague he was his brother, and Annabelle for better or worse was his sister in law. Now wasn't the time to be telling Harry that he wasn't responsible for the way that people behaved. Expecting to see tears in his eyes, tears that he would deny and blame on the wind, he took her by surprise. Pulling her down, so that she was lying next to him, he smiled.

'Ben didn't actually ask me the question, but he inferred that he knew you worked for the security service. Where else would I find someone that would put up with me and that I could trust as much as I obviously trust you,' he said. 'He told me that I had to learn to stop saying sorry and that it was pointless for me to continue to think that I could save the world. That I should concentrate on what was really important, something that I did have control over. That we were what mattered. He said that I had to stop worrying about him and that the next time that he heard from us, he expected us to be living under the same roof, married or otherwise. Which begs the question Ruth, which is it to be?'


	11. Chapter 11

Not surprisingly, by the time that they'd got back to the boat, the euphoria of being on their own had diminished. Overtaken by the comprehension of Ben's situation, they'd fallen into bed, clinging to each other for reassurance. Emotionally drained and being less than a mile from where Ben was quite probably getting his head bitten off, had somehow made it feel disloyal to be contemplating their mutual and desperate need for sex. His brother who just before he'd shaken Harry's hand and said goodnight, had told him that on one particularly bizarre evening during their marriage, Annabelle had actually shouted at him that he'd been the consolation prize. Something that he was telling Harry to make him laugh, not to feel guilty, because Annabelle had truly believed and probably still did, that Harry would have been a better catch. A back handed compliment if there ever was one, but then he knew that Harry would never have put up with her. That it _had_ helped over the years to know that it was him, not some faceless stranger who was going to turn up unexpectedly and whisk her away from him and that Annabelle hadn't and never would, be looking for anybody else.

That sane or otherwise, loving someone had the power to hurt like non other, but in other ways guaranteed the recipients abiding joy. That was what he was hoping for him and for Ruth.

.

With Ben's words firmly in his mind, 'once we get another day's travelling under our belts we'll both feel much better,' Harry assured himself and Ruth for a second time when she came and sat down next to him, his morning cup of coffee in her hand. On a morning that had seen them being woken by an excitable family of ducks, intent on sharing their breakfast, they'd made an earlier than usual start. Beziers had been fraught with tension for both of them, until that wonderful first night together and yet here they were again, two days later and already five days into their holiday, with the feeling that they're opening Ben's well reasoned book at the beginning.

No racing out of the starting blocks to escape, they'd been on the move now for a couple of hours, chugging along at a pace that has been barely discernible. The sea, bright and sparkling when they'd woken up that morning had all but disappeared and with it, a complete change in the landscape. They're deep in the heart of Camargue. A vast wasteland that is inhabited by wild horses and flamingos. Grassland that is baked hard by the sun, with nothing but a few natural water courses and small lakes to sustain them and where they spend their winters as well as their summers. Inhospitable to the naked eye, but with a beauty all of its own and unique to this area of France.

At some time in the future Ruth knows that she'll analyse the last couple of days, but for now she's content that they're back in their _happy place_ and that they're on their way again. She has more important things on her mind, or person in this case, Harry. Ben's fishing trip into their relationship has heightened her need to get the message over as to why she hasn't said yes, not just yet.

She needs to cut him some slack, not just plough in, so she isn't about to tell Harry that she's conversant with almost all things French and that her love of the country and his choice for this now non honeymoon is a perfect one. A love affair that had started when she'd discovered that she had an aptitude for languages, that had got her a placement on a three-month exchange during her last year at school, to an International School in the foothills of the Alps. This holiday is Harry's baby and she wants him is to be happy and if needs be, feel as though he's in charge. Not in the grid sense of course. So if waxing lyrical about the area and how the wine that's produced here, is pretty much the life blood of the region is just part of that, then she has to let him tell his story. Not cut him off at the knees, by interrupting him as she so frequently does.

Whether or not she can give him the answer that he so desperately wants before the end of their holiday, is dependent on him taking that one last step. The one that still might take some persuading.

That Harry is consistent and still wants to have his mid-morning cup of coffee, whereas she's now enjoying a glass of water which is far more beneficial in the heat, is just one of the many things that she accepts will never change and nor should it. This is the grid Harry as she's now decided to think of him, the one that up until this week, is the only Harry that she's ever known. But here, sitting alongside him, with her hand on resting his knee as though it's the most natural thing in the world, is a man that if he can put work out of his mind, which he assures her he's doing very successfully at the moment, can be an all-together different Harry. One who is hopefully ready to embrace change and will accept that he needs to do what other people do with the people that they love. Spend time with them and please god take more holidays.

That when they're married, and it is a when not an if, that she doesn't want him to spend his entire life worrying about their current case load or what's happening on the grid. He's spent a lifetime doing that. That he has a team who will be more than happy to help shoulder the burden, and if he delegates or shares the responsibility once in a while, to Ros for example who is more than capable, that they'll have the means and the time that they need to build a long and happy life together. This is the Harry that she'll say yes too and thankfully she's got another ten days to prove her point.

.

Meze is where he's planning that they'll be spending the night. A small town where he and Ben had stayed before they'd met Annabelle and if it hasn't changed too much, which let's face it isn't likely, he'll remember in detail. Whatever else the English say about the French, which is plenty, they can never deny that their towns and villages retain their identities. Despite the passing of time and all manner of reasons that seem to entice people away from where they are born, family and the need to stay in touch with how ever many generations are still alive, means everything to the French. Something he genuinely admires, despite his regular comments to the contrary.

It's now almost three days since he and Ruth had eaten out together, teetering on the brink of something wonderful, dancing around each other like a couple of love-struck teenagers. Well not tonight, he intends finding a classy restaurant where they can really celebrate, somewhere that Ruth will like. Despite the abiding memory that he and Ben got very drunk and were subsequently pretty much out of it, for the couple of days that followed a wine tasting festival in Meze, he has other memories. The tiny harbour which he can see in his mind's eye, where they'll moor up behind a row of boats similar to theirs. The houses, that at this time of year will be bedecked with flowers. Geraniums mostly, red, pink and white, interspersed with something blue. What he has no idea. Ruth will tell him, he's sure about that. The huge palm trees that grow on the lower level, the cobbled streets in the old quarter that will involve a steep climb to reach them, where the sheer atmosphere of the place in the evening, can make you feel light headed, even if you haven't had a drink. Vineyards as far as the eye can see, that fill every inch of the landscape, picture postcard and so indicative of this beautiful part of the countryside. Thoughts which are filling him with anticipation. That and the realisation that he and Ruth are actually laughing, a concept that has been almost alien during the years that they've spent together on the grid. That Ben is right, it is time for him to live his life in pages and he's going to ensure that this evening is the first of many. A page that when he turns it, Ruth will never forget.

For the moment though he needs to concentrate. They're approaching another lock, which means that they'll have to work in tandem to negotiate it without dramas. They're last in a queue of four boats and as Ruth stands up to take her place on the side of the boat while he steers, she turns and smiles at him. Testament to how they've always worked well together and how quickly they've adapted to this different pace of life in the space of a few days, he smiles back at her. This time, as the family in front of him make a pig's breakfast of their attempt. Something that in his past life and certainly on the grid would annoy him. Does he expect too much of people, perhaps he does? He's not perfect by any means he acknowledges that. He just needs to convince Ruth to look beyond his frailties and to realise that he intends to put more effort into his life away from the workplace. That and that the man who has spent his entire life hiding behind the mask that's expected of him, will do anything to make her happy.

.

It isn't until six in the evening that they make their move to head up into the old town. The heat of the sun that always seems to build to a crescendo before it gives way to a cooler and more bearable temperature, is less intense than it has been for the past couple of hours. Time during which they've showered and allowed themselves the luxury of a rest before they got dressed. Time that has been filled with a sense of calm after the storm and with a mounting anticipation.

The walk up the hill is no less forgiving than the one that Ruth took to reach the centre of Beziers and they take it equally slowly.

'Moments like this should be savoured,' Harry whispers, when they stop for the umpteenth time for a breather and to take in the vista behind them. The harbour where their boat is moored, now just a speck. Row upon row of vines that carpet the valley floor that look like a giant symmetrical jigsaw puzzle. The sea in the distance where the evening sun is still bouncing off the water. Tiny Lowry like figures who are getting on with their daily lives, completely unaware that there are two people, who in this single moment in time, are totally absorbed in their individual thoughts as they watch them.

None of which changes until they reach the top of the hill and are walking through the huge stone arch that has been the gateway to the old town for centuries, when Ruth realises that she isn't feeling very well. Maybe it's something she's eaten. It will pass she's sure, so there's no point in her bothering Harry. Harry who is staring skywards.

Hidden until the last moment and despite his _almost_ rejection of all things religious as bumph, the church that stands in front of them and in particular the multi-coloured stained glass window, which who ever installed it had the foresight to position it so that it is facing the setting sun, is something that he has never forgotten. He and Ben had been dressed in shorts as far as he can remember and hadn't crossed the threshold, whereas now when he's here with Ruth, who he's sure is appreciating it as much as he is, it's a forgone conclusion that they will.

* * *

_I really don't like the solid line that determines a change of scene, so I've taken the liberty of pinching the dot that another writer uses. I'm hoping that works better._


	12. Chapter 12

The intense heat outdoors was replaced by a marked drop in the temperature, the moment that they stepped into the church. So much so, that given how Ruth was feeling, she visibly shivered. Calling Harry into action, he quickly wrapped the jacket that he'd been carrying around her shoulders. Her holding onto him for what might be considered a wee bit too long in a place of worship, not registering that there was something wrong. They were a couple now in every sense, it was what couples did.

Ruth for her part, felt that she needed to make an effort. Whatever was causing her to feel like this, she was sure it would pass if she didn't give in to it.

Following Harry, as he skirted the perimeter of the two rather elaborate banks of seats, they paused to look at the numerous plaques that adorned the walls. Particularly poignant and if she'd felt better she'd have studied them more closely, were those that were dedicated to people of from area who had been lost in the wars. Complete families and villages in some cases, wiped out. With no one left to morn them or be taken to account, striking home in a way that was all too familiar. Moving forward and with their footsteps echoing across the stone floor, they arrived at the altar where they stopped again. Bearing in mind, that the decision as to whether or not they might be doing the self same thing was still in the balance, but should Ruth say yes was likely, wasn't lost on either of them. Especially, when Ruth briefly took his hand. As was the small door in the southwest corner that invited visitors to take in the view from the roof terrace, where hanging onto the rope that wound its way up the tower was advised. A support for those who wanted to make the journey and in Ruth's case because her head was spinning, they climbed the thirty or so stone steps that had been worn down by thousands of pairs of shoes over the centuries. At which point, a small offshoot of steps led into the bell tower, but was strictly out of bounds the notice told them. Twenty steps later and by this time with both of them breathing heavily, Harry pushed open the wooden door to the roof terrace and stood back to let Ruth walk ahead of him.

Approaching the balustrade that circumnavigated the tower, Harry briefly stopped, nodding to a young couple who were about to make the decent, before walking over to where Ruth was standing. The only thing that was higher up than they were was the flagpole, where the town emblem was flying proudly alongside the pigeons. Thames House it wasn't, but to Harry it felt equally special. As though they were the only two people on earth. Resisting kissing Ruth at that moment and if he could have done so, dropping down on one knee and saying 'please what more do I have to do to get you to marry me' Harry lent against the balustrade beside her. Did she know what he was thinking? Quite probably she did.

Except that in this case, what Harry might or might not be thinking had been overtaken by Ruth's need to compose herself. She suspected that the view across the valley extended for miles in every direction, but as her feet were glued to the spot, as were her hands that were gripping the handrail, where her knuckles were starting to turn white, she had more worrying things on her mind. Added to which, had it not been for the fact that Harry was standing next to her, she doubted whether her legs would be keeping her upright. Trying to look anywhere other than down or up, which felt equally unsettling, she somehow forced herself to let go one of her hands and make a grab for Harry. Harry who had no idea that she'd been struggling had been gazing at her unashamedly, until now when he finally realised that something was seriously wrong.

At which point, him telling Ruth that it was time to go and find a restaurant because he was getting hungry and he was sure that she was too, might not have been the best thing to say, as she took a huge breath and let go her other hand from the railing. Stepping backwards because her legs wouldn't let her turn around, she stumbled.

Cursing himself for being so stupid, he assumed that this was because she couldn't cope with the height and grabbed hold of her. An action that saw her bending over, putting her hands on either side of his waist and taking in huge gulps of air. In any other circumstances he'd have been over joyed, whereas in this case his only concern was to get her back to ground level. Something that they achieved by walking very slowly, him in front of her, as they took it one step at a time.

.

Back out in the sunshine, they stopped at the first café that they came to, where Harry ordered himself a beer and Ruth a large bottle of fizzy water. Sitting under a brightly covered umbrella, still hundreds of feet above sea level, but on safe ground, Ruth slowly began to get some of her colour back.

'I'm sorry, I don't know what's the matter with me?' she told him, hoping to goodness that she'd be able to cope with eating something. Harry had been planning this evening from day one, and here she was, just wanting to go back to the boat and crawl into bed.

'There's always tomorrow,' he told her, knowing that she was still far from alright. Only too grateful that he'd succeeded in getting them both down, without having to call for the cavalry and that his fairy tale evening which was in tatters, no longer mattered.

During the walk back down the hill, they said very little. Harry conscious that Ruth was putting on a brave face and making an effort to be cheerful, while he passed the time by eliminating places that required climbing large structures, for when they discussed their next holiday. Discussed being the operative word. He was ravenously hungry but clearly Ruth wasn't. He'd believed that he knew everything there was to know about Ruth but he'd been proved wrong. Whether it was the atmosphere in the church, the height or that she had some sort of bug he had no idea. What he did know, was that the Ruth that functioned in a way that astounded him when they were at work, wasn't the same Ruth that he was looking at now.

Not usually one to think too deeply about anything other than work, his soul aim now was to think this through. They might be living on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but living 'together' they were and had been for the best part of six days. Six days, that for him, if you took away the antics of Annabelle and what had just happened in the church, had been happy ones. Ruth on the other hand had flown over on a whim, with absolutely no confidence that she'd find him, spent three nights in hotels, two stressful days with a woman that she didn't know, who'd been hell bent on making her feel uncomfortable and then a day later, had been dragged up a bloody great hill. Put all that together and it was no wonder she was failing to cope. Added to which and despite her trying to hide it, he knew that she'd been intimidated by Annabelle. Plus and here was the proverbial final straw, she'd climbed the tower because he'd wanted to. Ruth, his rock, was exhausted, something that brought a huge surge of love from deep within him and his desire to look after her even greater. That he needed to ask her what _she_ wanted to do from now on and not go at the breakneck speed that he'd been setting.

.

Give him time and Harry always became just Harry. The man and not Harry the boss, as she watched him put the kettle on to make her the cup of tea that she'd been craving. Resisting the temptation to say 'how very English,' when he delivered it, before him telling her 'to give him a shout if she needed anything else and that he'd leave the bedroom door slightly ajar,' she lay down. Half an hour and she'd been fine again she told herself as she closed her eyes. In the background, she could hear Harry preparing himself something to eat and then nothing.

.

Harry was cobbling together a salad. That and some bread that had seen better days, even though they'd only bought it that morning. Together with a couple of beers, he settled himself down for the evening. His thoughts only interrupted when his phone beeped.

_Been on the beach today, how about you? Love to you both. Ben._

_Fine, enjoying a quiet evening in. Love to you too._ He replied, wanting to keeping it simple.

Most importantly, he'd made a decision, that when Ruth woke up, whether it be tonight or in the morning, providing that she was feeling better, that they were going to confront this in between state that had evolved. Before that, he had the rest of his evening to fill with something that he could do quietly or he'd wake her. He'd promised Ruth that he'd stay close which meant that he had to remain inside. Stacking the dishes with the skill of someone who was used to creeping about without being seen or heard, he kicked off his shoes and resigned himself to an evening alone, glancing at the small bookshelf for inspiration. Travel books, maps and a selection of walks in the region took up two thirds, which left an assortment of paperbacks in various languages. Settling for an Ian Rankin, the only author of any substance amongst a pile of romances, he settled himself down on the sofa with another glass of beer and opened the first page.

Several chapters later and he'd grown restless, the half- finished glass of beer had been tipped down the sink and the book had been put to one side. Bed beckoned after a trip to the bathroom.

Ruth was still out for the count when he climbed into bed beside her, which gave him the opportunity to watch her as she slept. The temptation to smooth back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face when she'd turned over, he couldn't resist. Whatever she was dreaming and she definitely was, because her eyes were dancing behind the lids, she looked peaceful and very relaxed. Words failed him at moments like this. Rare moments when he could look at her without any restrictions, when nobody questioned his motives or made comments or insinuations, when he could be him alone with his thoughts. How she completed him and brought out the best in him and made him realise his absolute love of her. Because that's what it was. Total and unshakeable and never ending.

_Several hours later -_

Ruth had fallen asleep almost the moment that her head had hit the pillow and when she woke up it was still dark. She had no idea what the time was, but as Harry who never slept late was still asleep beside her, she resisted the urge to wake him. Except that she couldn't just lie there because she needed to use the bathroom and she needed something to eat and drink. Creeping out of bed and tip toeing the short distance, she used the loo and then put the kettle on. With one eye on the sleeping Harry, she reached up into the cupboard for the biscuits. Would she be able to go up on deck without waking him up? She hoped so, because she needed some fresh air.

With her tea made and with the biscuits in her pyjama pocket, something that she'd have to remember to shake out later, she put on Harry's discarded jumper and jacket. Much too large, but they would keep her warm against the cool night air. Not only that, they smelt of Harry. A blanket of memories that had always made her feel safe. Unique to him and totally hers by his own admission.

But when had told her that and why? Her default setting when she didn't feel well, had always been to fall asleep and that's what she'd done. But she was equally sure that she'd told Harry that yes she'd marry him? Had it been in a dream or had she actually said it? The only way to find out, would be to ask him when he woke up.


	13. Chapter 13

'For one awful moment, I considered the real possibility that you might have walked in your sleep and fallen overboard, what on earth were you thinking?' Harry greeted Ruth, in what amount to his grid voice, before realising that he needed to rewind. Shortly to reappear with a hot drink, a couple of blankets and some cushions, he was now dressed in a sweatshirt and some jogging pants, as opposed to nothing other than his boxers when he'd woken up to find Ruth gone. In a blind panic that had seen him racing up onto the deck with no thought other than he'd lost her, only to find Ruth alive and looking so much better.

'Toast?' he suggested, heading back inside again, before returning to find Ruth propped up against the cushions and snuggled up under the blanket, which wasn't he concluded, such a bad way to start the day. Especially when she lifted the corner of the blanket with the suggestion that he should crawl in beside her.

Ruth, who had spent the hour or so before Harry had appeared, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, hadn't heard him coming, so being greeted by a wide eyed and almost naked Harry had made her wonder if she was imagining things again. She obviously wasn't and more importantly whatever it was that had been making her feel unwell, for the moment at least seemed to have passed. Maybe it _was_ the intense heat that they'd been experiencing, or a lack of fluids, or maybe Harry was right, and in her subconscious she'd been stressing about Annabelle and the things that she'd said to her. More than that she didn't know, other than now Harry was awake that she wanted a cuddle.

Apart from the offending church tower which was lit up like a beacon of remembrance, there was nothing to even mildly suggest that the previous evening had been nerve wracking for both of them. Harry, because he'd stopped trying to second guess what it was that had made Ruth feel so poorly, and Ruth because she just wanted to stop thinking about it. The deck where she and now they were sitting, was at the prow of the boat and designed to be used as an outside dining area. Leaning back against the bulk of the cabin, Harry who by his own admission was feeling much more level headed passed Ruth a piece of toast, before setting about organising what else he'd brought with him. A tray that was a breakfast-banquet in itself, which he'd loaded with the first things that he'd been able to lay his hands on. As long as Ruth was comfortable and above all else warm, which she'd assured him she was, then he was happy to sit there until she made the decision that they should move. The Ruth who he loved more than life itself, had always been inclined to do what nobody else would dream of doing. She was different and to all but him fiercely independent. Who other than her, would have chosen to sit outside in the moonlight in the middle of the night, rather than stay in a warm and comfortable bed? At this particular moment he would.

Whether or not she was going to confirm what he'd concluded was the need to slow down for while, could wait until they, or more particularly she'd got some warm food inside her. That and the confirmation, which after due consideration he'd accepted as impossible, that he'd got Ruth pregnant. Something that according to Ros, in an aside during one of her '_as_ _there's not much going on, I might as well wind Ruth up' _moments, had inferred that she needed to be careful, because he could make it happen by just holding Ruth's hand. A comment that at the time, had caused him to mutter into his morning coffee that 'a chance would be a fine thing' and for Ruth to turn bright red. Which made it all the more remarkable, that they were very successfully in his mind at least, putting into practice his long held dream of making love on a regular basis. But perhaps without the making babies scenario, which would see Miss Myers instigating a memo to the broad sheets and Tariq, the master of the unfortunate, announcing to anyone who would listen to him that it was true.

Stop it he told himself, trying but failing to blank out the image. The one where he was arriving back from a busy day on the grid to find Ruth bouncing a baby on her knees, saying 'look darling Daddy's home', he forced himself back to reality and the current situation. The one where he would open the batting, by telling her that he knew that his planning had been over ambitious and that he was sorry.

Ruth though, who up until then had said very little other than please and thank you, cut him short. Putting her drink down and then turning towards him and with a very earnest look on her face, she called him lovely. As far as he could remember, amongst the many and varied adjectives that had been used over the years to describe him, lovely hadn't been one of them. In fact, most of the descriptions had started with letters that appeared at the beginning of the alphabet, such as arsehole and bastard, both of which had been liberally and over zealously in his opinion, been proceeded by something that started with the sixth letter of the aforementioned alphabet. In fact, he was sure that Ruth herself, had at some time in the past called him the latter, but without the expletive that usually preceded it. Deciding, for the moment at least, to put to one side his concerns about Ruth's physical and his now mental well being, he was just about to tell her that she was lovely too, when it occurred to him that by doing so, he'd be veering away from the matter in hand.

'Here let me help you with that,' he offered instead, taking the jar of marmalade that she was struggling to open.

He wasn't to know of course, that this wasn't the only thing that Ruth was struggling with. Her memory which was usually razor sharp, something that had got her into trouble on more occasions than she could remember, as well as being an asset when she was at work, was still failing to process what had happened at the end of the previous evening. She could remember Harry helping her to get undressed and then sitting on the side of the bed until she'd told him to go and make himself something to eat. Then nothing other than the vague memory that he'd said that he wouldn't leave her, and the nagging feeling that before she'd fallen asleep that he'd proposed again and that she'd said yes. Which was strange really, because surely if she had, he have mentioned it?

What she did know, was that despite feeling better, she'd had very little sleep, so thinking about what she and Harry had or hadn't said to each other would have to wait until later. Common sense kicking in, despite being warm and cosy and wishing they could stay where were for the rest of their lives, that it was probably best if she went back to bed for a while.

Harry didn't need telling twice, sleep was a rare commodity in his life and he knew it's value. If this was what Ruth felt she needed, then he was mightily relieved. That getting away from Meze was also probably a good idea and if he was methodical, as he had been during the two days before she'd caught up with him, he could get some miles under his belt before Ruth woke up again. Get Ruth safely tucked up in bed and it wouldn't take him long to tidy up the kitchen – flying crockery and cutlery which wasn't theirs would be costly and then he'd get showered and changed into something cooler before the heat of the day caught up with him.

'Leave it, I'll deal with it,' he told her, helping her to her feet when she said that they couldn't leave the deck in a mess.

.

It wasn't until late into the afternoon that Ruth woke up. By which time Harry had successfully negotiate several more locks and stopped briefly to buy some fish at Sete, the largest fishing port in France. Somewhere where he might have considered them staying had Ruth been on top form, but instead had powered ahead and was now aiming for Palavas. A quiet and more sedate seaside resort that was entirely on the level, where the wharf where they would be mooring up for the evening was away from the centre of the village. Only a quarter of a mile on foot from the sea, he'd already made up his mind, that they could either have what he now determined would be a gentle stroll, or simply just stay in for the evening. That either way Ruth would decide and that he was going to pamper her, which meant that he'd be doing the cooking.

Having a shower and cleaning your teeth while the engine was running, was essential if you didn't want to be confronted by a blast of cold water, and exactly what Ruth was doing. Music to Harry's ears having not heard her get up. That she'd slept as long as she had, meant that she'd needed too and hopefully she'd feel better for it. Leave her be he told himself, you can fuss over her later. It had been a long day and his back was starting to ache. What had Ben said? 'With all due respect at your age.' Bloody cheek, he was only three years younger than he was. He stood up a stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders obligingly crunching to remind that he wasn't as fit as he should be and that not only had he been pushing Ruth, but he'd been pushing himself as well and to what end? He had nothing to prove where she was concerned did he?

'Hey,' said a gentle voice behind him, confirming again that he was right and that someone other than his beloved dog agreed with him. That she looked so much better was an understatement.

.

They didn't go out, there was no need Ruth had told him, pretending that she hadn't noticed what Harry had planned for the evening. Fresh sea bass fillets, with a selection of veggies that he'd bought in a small shop on the quayside, which he'd cooked to perfection, had been followed up by meringues filled with summer berries.

'Just because,' he'd told a completely overwhelmed Ruth, who by then had been waited on hand and foot.

'Just because?' she'd queried, her eyes almost matching the darkening sky, never leaving his. Silently pleading with him to continue, whilst still hoping that Harry was teasing her and that maybe she had said yes she'd marry him.

Something that had proved to be the lead in to an evening that would be full of joy and more importantly an open and honest discussion as to where did they go from here? An evening that even when the sun had finally set, neither of them had wanted to go to bed. Not just yet. But that when they did, it would be with the knowledge that their love making would be gentle and considerate.

She wasn't a fool and she'd known that Harry was tired and rightly so and that he'd been fighting to stay awake. Harry who had opened a bottle of wine, the first for several days, because she'd insisted that she was beginning to feel better. Harry who had raised his glass and told that she was beautiful. Had confirmed that he hadn't asked her the previous evening, but tonight he had. That her answer had been a simple and unreserved yes and that anything other than that could wait until the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

Ruth had said yes. A positive yes. At which point they'd looked at each other as though they'd just discovered how to make fire. Which in a way they had. Now on the morning that followed 'just because' and as Ruth was still promising him that she was fine and that he wasn't to worry, he was finding it hard to contain his enthusiasm.

'Annabelle, a bug of some sort or just plain common or garden exhaustion it doesn't matter. As long as we can have a few more days doing nothing, I'll be OK,' she'd told him, bringing him back down to earth and into someone that wasn't believing he could swim the English Channel before lunchtime.

'That's as maybe, but I refuse to let layabout be added to my many and various titles,' he told her, before encouraging her to continue to put her spin on exactly what she meant by doing nothing. His take should she ask him to define it, would be to insist that they perhaps had breakfast in bed and that the intimacy that they'd shared the previous evening would continue. Both of which he'd been thinking about from the moment that he'd opened his eyes. The first of which, after a short discussion, he'd agreed could wait until they got home. On cold winter mornings and on the days that he'd now promised her that they'd spend away from the grid. Home, a place that had a real ring to it, with an echo of so much more than somewhere to crawl back to after multiples of hours at work. His or hers, or somewhere new that they would choose together, like all the dozens of other things that they needed to discuss. Without any pressure she'd insisted, temporarily calming him down and the reason that they ended up having a relaxed and quiet breakfast out on the deck, before their mutually agreed potter into Palavas.

It no longer mattered to Harry that they'd been teetering on the brink for years and had done nothing about it, because he was happy. More than that, he couldn't put into words without emotion spilling into his voice and today wasn't a day to be mulling over the time that they'd wasted. He wanted to be positive and that included having positive thoughts. That being older would hopefully eliminate all the pussy footing around as to when all this was going to happen, especially as Ruth was talking in sentences that started with 'when we do' as opposed to saying no and disappearing faster than the speed of light. Times that had generally left him sitting on or behind his desk, with his mouth open and no clue whatsoever as to he said or done to make her reject him. Whereas now that he'd calmed down, he was happy to listen to her rambling. As long as she didn't expect him to remove what was a permanent twinkle in his eyes, because he couldn't. So much so, that he was close to believing that it had always been like this. Except that he knew that it hadn't. Something he was sure had aged him, whereas now he felt as though he could do anything that Ruth demanded of him and would do it willingly. Not that she was likely to demand something that they couldn't accomplish together, for what remained of the holiday, or at a speed that they both deemed was sensible. Palavas was on the level, as would be the rest of their trip they'd decided. He just needed to rein himself in a bit, which was a difficult thing to do when you were sitting on the other side of the breakfast table, from the woman who had said yes to virtually everything you'd ever wanted to give her. Well almost everything.

Marriage was preceded by an engagement as far as Harry was concerned and call him old fashioned, which almost every one that he knew him did, but he wanted to buy Ruth a ring. And what could be more romantic than buying her and engagement ring while they were still in France on this non honeymoon. That and finding somewhere nice to have lunch, when he would _maybe _bring up the subject that included how soon do you want to get married and what he should have done the first time around, discuss where they'd go for the honeymoon.

'Perhaps we should just have a honeymoon every year and end up in the Guinness Book of Records. Get us on the scoreboard ahead of Ros, for her ability to chop you off at the kneecaps. Literally as well as verbally,' briefly took his mind and his voice on a journey into humour which caused Ruth to smile.

But would she budge an inch when it came to him buying her a ring? Not at the moment anyway. But give her time, because he wasn't going to give up.

.

Ruth was equally happy, but understandably given that she'd felt so dreadfully tired the previous day and generally looked further into the future than Harry did, had her feet more firmly on the ground. Like him, she was very much looking forward to what amounted to the five more days when they'd be on holiday, during which time they could plot and plan, not only the wedding and discuss finding a house that they wanted to live in, but their future. Except in one respect, where she was pretty sure that her thoughts were at odds with what Harry was envisaging. Bowled along on the euphoria of her having said yes, she was certain that Harry had forgotten the difficulties and restrictions that they'd be faced with, were they to continue to work together on the grid and more importantly as husband and wife. Up until now he'd always been deeply concerned that any close association with him would line her up as a target, as had been proved on numerous occasions with their colleagues. Tom and Ellie and then, god forgive her for thinking this, the simpering Christine Dale. Adam and Fiona and more recently Adam and Ros, all of whom had loved one another, only to see that love exploited. Ros who by her own admission was done with relationships and would make a formidable Section Head given the chance, was waiting in the wings, whereas if she and Harry stayed on, what was to say that they wouldn't be torn apart by the demands of the service, or suffer the same fate?

None of which meant that she was trying to demean what Harry did or had done in the service of their country. Far from it because it was second to none. But it wasn't the depth of love of his for his country that would keep them alive and together, it was the acceptance that it could and more importantly _had_ to be replaced with his love of her. Which left only one conclusion. If they wanted to have any quality of life for what remained of the time that they had together, then they both needed to resign. Not a problem for her, but for Harry she'd be lying to herself if she said that she was looking forward to having this conversation. It had to be had though, although definitely not today.

.

A number of small tributaries of the river, crisscrossed via a series of bridges, gave you a glimpse of village and the sea beyond. In the background and bordering the estuary, rolling hills stretched like a vast curtain across the landscape, whereas in the foreground, dozens of sandy stretches that were currently inhabited by flocks of seabirds carpeted the estuary. Common or garden gulls mostly, but others that neither he or Ruth recognised. Their heads bouncing up and down, beaks pecking into the sand and between pebbles in search of their next meal. In an area that when the wind blew, which obviously it did at some time or other would see litter flying. Except that considering the number of tourists that this seaside village accommodated, was remarkably litter free.

'Shall we?' Harry suggested when they reached what approximated half way and as though it had been put there just for them, a wooden bench that afforded those who wanted to take in the view of the surroundings, or simply just wanted to take a break, stood empty and inviting. The Thames it certainly wasn't. Compared to the river that they saw almost every day when they walked into work, this was just a trickle. But for the short while that they sat there before they headed off again, it felt equally special. To Harry because he couldn't remember a day when he'd felt this happy and Ruth because she'd already been imagining them being able to do something like this every day. On a whim or planned it wouldn't matter. Anywhere in the world for that matter, she was reflecting in a zone all of her own, whilst still attached to Harry both emotionally and physically. Where or when in London had Harry ever been able to sit on a bench with his arm around her shoulders, or her with her hand clasped in his? Where or when had they ever been in a position to say anything or everything to each other without rancour or regret, or with a phone ringing or someone walking in and disturbing them? Where or when had they ever been as together as they were now? Never. All of which were strengthening her resolve. Give or take the yet unknown hurdles that would inevitably face them, which everyone who had any sort of worthwhile relationship had to negotiate from time to time, the solution to having memories like this to sustain them for the rest of their lives, was glaringly obvious. Play it by ear, the chance will come to broach the subject she was telling herself, only to be offered a small lead in almost straight away.

As Harry stood up and offered her his hand, he winced and then stretched his hands arms above his head in an effort to straighten up. Repeating the performance of the previous day, which of course she hadn't witnessed.

'Maybe you overdid it a bit yesterday?' she suggested, hitting the nail fair and square on the head as far as Harry was concerned. Implying what? That the reason that his back was bothering him, was in truth, that while she'd been having a lazy day in bed, that he'd been doing the work of two people by navigating the locks and the moorings on his own. As opposed to her setting the ball rolling, by telling him something that had occurred to him as far back as the moment that Ben had implied quite rightly, but without using the exact words, that time wasn't on their side. Ben who'd been married for twenty years, albeit to nightmare that was Annabelle, had looked fit and extremely healthy, whereas they who spent their days in an environment that was totally lacking in fresh air and sunlight, looked what his mother would have described as pasty. If it was taking more holidays that Ruth was thinking about, she would no doubt tell him in her own time, but for now he wasn't going to question it.

Almost on the same wavelength, apart from her wish that they'd leave the service together and sooner rather than later, Ruth had used the opportunity that had been offered to her. Wherever they ended up living and she was sure that Harry would insist that it was somewhere in the UK, that maybe there was some merit in revisiting his long ago dreamed of Grand Tour. But perhaps they could extend it by taking a year out, to somewhere other than in Europe. She's done her research and had looked it up. With it long golden beaches and miles of blue ocean, Bayside in Victoria Australia was twinned with Palavas. Harry and her in Australia, now that really would be a holiday to remember, if only she could persuade him?


	15. Chapter 15

Nobody had just walked through the pods and out into what Harry had once deemed to be the real world, since he'd decommissioned Tom all those years ago. His own reason for leaving though was completely different he'd told himself, not entirely convincingly. Something that he'd discussed at length with Ruth and had been the basis of the conversation that had seen him agreeing to spend an evening in a restaurant with the Home Secretary, handing him his resignation. First things first, get that done and dusted and then they'd be able to tell their colleagues. When they actually left the service, would be their decision.

'I'm tired,' he'd told the man who had been sitting across the table from him and in truth he was. Eventually being forced to confess, that the reason wasn't entirely due to working long hours and having to make impossible decisions anymore, but that his life away from Thames House had been miraculously turned on its head. That the tiredness was physical not mental and that his sleepless nights were a thing of the past. That his mind which had always run on a single track to protect the nation, was still on a single track, but in a completely different direction. Before finally getting to the point, by telling Towers that the real reason he was leaving the service was that he and Ruth were going to getting married.

'I won't tell a soul,' Towers had assured him when he'd finally stopped choking on something that had gone down the wrong way, before adding, rather unnecessarily in Harry's opinion that 'wonders never cease.' No they don't thought Harry, pretty sure that Towers wouldn't keep the news to himself and that nothing as far as politicians were concerned, came without a price tag. Which in this case was with the proviso that, 'they must come and see him together before they leave.'

Ignoring the wonders never cease comment, which Harry had taken to mean that Towers found it hard to believe that anyone could love him enough to want to marry him, let alone Ruth, or someone that he hadn't drugged into submission, persuading Ruth to have afternoon tea at the Home Secretary's country residence on a Sunday afternoon, had taken a bit more persuading.

'We'll drive ourselves,' Harry told Towers when they'd firmed up on the time and date, knowing full well after what had happened, that Ruth wouldn't want her particularly nosy neighbour Susie, peering through her curtains when they were being picked up in a car that was three times of size of hers. It was none of her bloody business that the apparently sad and lonely Ruth had got herself hooked up at last. Ruth hadn't liked the description hooked up and had told her so, before she'd slammed the door in her face.

.

On the short list of people that they were obliged or wanted to tell, Towers away from the confines of his sumptuous office, greeted Harry and Ruth in a relaxed manner that was completely at odds with the man that bumbled his way around Whitehall.

All dressed casually, but what do you wear when you've been invited for afternoon tea with the Home Secretary? Had been Ruth's concern, long before they were getting ready, making the valid comment that it was easy for men when she'd picked up and put things down, until Harry had made the decision for her. More than that, the afternoon was destined to a real eye opener, especially for Harry, that politics as a career at least for this particular politician, wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

'I envy you your certainty of purpose Harry, I really do,' Towers told him, once Ruth had been strategically manoeuvred by Alice Towers out of the sitting room, supposedly to be told the trials and tribulations of being married to her husband, as opposed to listening to what was being said on the other side of the room. At which point Towers drew Harry into his confidence and beyond, by announcing that 'spouting a load of old cobblers about improving this and that and then doing precisely the opposite, was written in invisible ink on the wall of the House of Commons. I've been in politics for as long as you've worked for the service and do you know what, I still don't know whether I've made a difference? Whereas you, for all your doubts and self-recriminations can hold your head high. I'm sure you don't need any advice from me, but for what it's worth, don't think of this as retirement, think of it as a new beginning.'

Temporarily lost for words, not something that was usually attributed to Harry, he accepted Towers offer that he should sit down. Using Harry as a means of what, Harry had no idea, as Towers took a deep breath and started again, by bemoaning the fact that he'd love to retire, but to do what? Another implied comment, that was added too when Ruth and a tray carrying Alice Towers returned shortly afterwards, suggesting that the love birds should sit side by side on the sofa. Something that caused an embarrassed Ruth to mouth 'love birds,' as she walked across the room and did as she was told.

All of which was followed up two weeks later, 'On a rainy day in London Town' as the first line of the song said, which in this case was in the October, two months after they'd got back from France, when they'd slipped away from the grid at lunchtime as section head and senior analyst, only to return as husband and wife. No glamour, no big fanfare, in fact they survived right up until the following morning, when Ros who'd gone over to ask Ruth about an asset that she was going to meet had seen her wedding ring. Causing the usually contained Ros when it came to matters of the heart, to turn around and look at him, with an expression that closely resembled affection.

Before that though, when they'd arrived back at Thames House, instead of taking the lift, Harry had grabbed Ruth's hand and the nodded in the direction of the back stairs.

'I want five minutes with you on my own,' he'd whispered, opening the door onto the roof terrace, despite the fact that they were now long overdue on the grid.

The rain had eased slightly but it was still damp and he'd produced an umbrella. Huddled together in the one place, that up until their time in France, had been where they'd always found a way to come together, through whatever life had thrown at them, Harry had kissed her with all the love of someone who had married the woman he had been in love with for years.

'No regrets?' she'd asked him, a ridiculous question if ever there was one, as they'd gazed at each other and then out over the city. The city that had once held the full focus of his attention, but was now second only to her in his heart.

.

Since they'd come back from France, they'd been living in Ruth's house rather than Harry's. Arriving at work together and going home together they'd survived the odd comment from their colleagues, whereas as now it was only the occasional 'ah' that was whispered in the darker corners of the grid. Why Ruth's? Because she had far more 'stuff' as he'd inadvertently called her collection of books one evening. A statement that apparently amounted to him committing one of the seven deadly sins and resulted in him having to do what she told him for what remained of the week. _F__ully deserved_ he'd admitted, as he'd set too and helped her with the packing in advance of the move. Something that she'd been doing in the same methodical way that applied to almost everything that she did. That to the outsider might appear to be chaotic, but wasn't. Mundane maybe, but cathartic as they were about to downsize from two houses into one. Ensuring that they didn't end up with two of everything, they'd bagged up the surplus which they'd taken to a charity shop. A lot of which, had come with the declaration that they had no idea why they'd kept whatever it was for so long as they had.

The once crucial where are we going to spend the rest of our lives, had pretty much been decided for them. The TV and its endless repeats had been rumbling on in the background. A programme which involved two people who were looking to buy a house, for some bizarre reason wanting daytime TV watchers to peer into what or might not eventually be their bedroom. James somebody or other and his wife Mildred, something that at the time caused Harry to question whether anyone was called Mildred these days, were being dragged the length and breadth of the East of England. For him and for Ruth, who had no firm idea as to where they wanted to set up home, as long as it was reasonably close to the sea and had a nice country pub nearby, the choices had been endless. Somewhere that was far enough away from London, but was still within a reasonable distance of an airport was essential. The Suffolk coastline with the Fens not too far away, where if they wanted, they could buy a small boat to travel the length and breadth of the canals, answered all those questions. The need for airport, for what they'd now decided would be regular holidays, rather than spending a year away from home in far flung climes. All of which had taken several frustrating months to achieve until D Day minus one, when it had come as things usually do, rather too quickly.

.

'Ruth not with you?' Was a fairly unnecessary question, given that Harry was sitting on his own at the bar when Ros walked into the restaurant.

'She's spending the evening with Malcolm and Tariq.'

'All desk spooks together.'

'Ruth's not any kind of spook now Ros.'

'Once a spook always a spook, isn't that what you used to tell everybody?'

'As much as it pains me to say this, given my reputation for always believing that I'm right, on this particular subject I'm pleased to be proved wrong.'

'Whereas that smile on your face, suggests that the reason that you haven't been onto the grid for the last couple of months, is that marital bliss still exists in the Pearce household. Who'd have believed it, Harry Pearce wearing a wedding ring and moving to Suffolk. Miles from anywhere down a track where you'll be snowed in during the winter. It will be like living in the back of beyond.'

'To you maybe, but it was a joint decision, although this wasn't, I was adamant as you well know.' Harry told Ros, his left hand now extended towards her, having arranged to meet for dinner, before he and Ruth left London in the morning.

'I'm still sorry though that it's taken you all this time,' Ros continued, looking at Harry with an expression that told him that she still believed that she was partly to blame for the delay in them finally getting their act together. She and Ruth had always been miles apart in all sorts of ways. Her fighting to get a foothold when she'd first arrived on the grid by engaging in backbiting. Ruth always able to counter whatever she'd said, with a comment that had been far more worthy of making. Someone who'd she'd acknowledged from the start was a perfect partner for Harry, but hadn't found the courage to tell her until the day when she discovered that they'd got married.

'Something that we've also talked about and do you know what? Maybe it had to be like this to make it work. Which it does Ros believe you me, as you and I sitting here now for the last time proves,' Ros was trying to ignore. Harry had been the lifeline that she'd pretended that she hadn't needed since she'd joined the section. All of them had at some time or other and the thought that he wouldn't be there every morning was something that she was struggling to cope with. The losses that had brought them closer together that she'd now have to face on her own. None of which she was going to spoil the evening by telling him.

'And the honeymoon, the real one?' She asked, schooling her face in an attempt hide it, but failing miserably because Ruth had primed him.

'Is on hold for six months, to give us time to settle into our new life. After that who knows,' he told her handing her a note. 'My new number, which I know is against the rules, but I'll be there if you ever need to talk to someone.'

.

Ruth was having a far less emotionally charged evening, which was in no small part why she'd persuaded Harry to see Ros on his own. Not always a good reader of people, Harry had been presuming that everything in the state of 'camp Ros' now that she was section head was fine, whereas she'd recognised that it wasn't. Ros and her I don't need anyone in my life crap, was a front. Something that had briefly been proven when she and Adam had been together. Whether or not there would be anyone else who would come anywhere close, rather depended on Ros accepting that spending your evenings and nights with someone else, was better than spending them on your own. Something that she and Harry had shied away from for all sorts of ridiculous reasons, almost entirely hers. Until now, when she was looking across the room at Malcolm and twisting her wedding and, bought after the event engagement rings on her finger. Still barely able to believe that Harry had said yes straight away when she asked him to leave the service with her and, that in the morning, the van was going to arrive to take their things to Suffolk.


	16. Chapter 16

The promised offer of help that Harry had given to Ros, was repaid when she agreed that Malcolm could supervise the last of their belongings being loaded. Enabling Harry and Ruth to get a head start and arrive in Suffolk well in advance of the van. But whoever it was that had written that one of the most stressful things in life, apart from getting a divorce or coping with the loss of a close relative, presuming that the latter was someone that you'd actually liked, was to sell up and move to a new home, obviously hadn't read the script. The one that every one that knew them had engraved on their hearts, that this particular couple had suffered enough, and on what should have been one of the most exciting days of their lives, that their van shouldn't be involved in a road accident on the outskirts of London. When at the exact same moment, Harry and Ruth were chatting happily about the days and weeks ahead, as he negotiated the ring road around Colchester.

In the ensuing chaos, as car horns blared and passing pedestrians gathered together to take pictures on their phones, the main priority of the emergency services, was to ensure that the occupants of the vehicles involved, were taken to the hospital as quickly as possible. That and to divert the long build-up of traffic which was bringing this particular part of London to a standstill. Which meant that by the time that they put in a call to Harry, the van had been towed away to the nearest police pound and Harry and Ruth, who'd collected the keys from the estate agent on the outskirts of Ipswich, were within a few miles of their new home in Dunwich.

Pulling into the first lay-by that he came to, with no idea that the person on the end of the line was a member of the Metropolitan Police, Harry was now listening to Ruth's stuttering end of the conversation.

'Is anyone hurt, followed by how much damage is there?' Couldn't be work related, despite the fact that the colour had drained out of her face. Well-founded when she willingly handed over the phone and he was told that there was every chance that the entire contents of the van and what amounted to their total possessions, were likely be declared as a right off.

'Precisely what she meant by total, was how it had been described to her. She hadn't actually seen it,' the sympathetic policewoman at the other end of the phone was telling him.

'The plan?' when he asked in a voice that he tried to moderate to sound reasonable, was that 'their belongings such as they were, would be re packed into another van in the morning and then delivered to their location. Yes, she did mean entire contents,' she assured him, which Harry was visualising and wished he wasn't, 'meant that nothing was going to be thrown away. It was their property and as such it would be treated with respect.'

Harry, who by now was gritting his teeth, refrained from asking her if the police had a furniture packing branch, or how within the confines of outer London, the bloody idiot that had been driving a large van, had succeeded in turning it over. Whilst at the same time reflecting, that whilst this might not be considered to be a disaster, in the same way as those he'd had to deal with in the past, that as a civilian and one whose marriage was in still it's infancy, it was running a close second. Thanking Ellie as she'd called herself and ending the call, he turned his attention back to Ruth. What to say though, when he was struggling to put a positive spin on what he'd just been told. The furniture could be replaced, whereas their personal belongings and the majority of her books, some of which were first editions and others that had a sentimental value that stretched back over years, were irreplaceable. Faced with a period of stress and this was definitely going to be stressful, the shortness of breath, the dizziness and a period of fatigue, all of which had been the symptoms that she'd experienced when they'd been in France, had so far been dismissed without a diagnosis. On a very unsatisfactory morning, in his not so humble opinion, when he'd gone with her to visit her own idiot doctor.

'Take these if it happens again,' he'd said when he'd been scribbling out prescription, before telling her 'not to overdo it.' Which if it hadn't been for Ruth looking at him, with an expression that said 'just leave it Harry'who knows what he might have said or done.

Forcing himself to put to one side, the resurfacing murderous thoughts about Doctor Death, finding somewhere other than their new home to spend the night was now a priority. Easier said than done, because in doing so, as opposed to sleeping under their own roof and surrounded by their own possessions, would only highlight what the next day was likely to bring. But the house was still there, the keys were in his pocket. The sandwiches that she'd made before they'd left, the tea, the coffee and the kettle, were all stowed in the boot. Acknowledging that the two drivers of the van had injuries which would probably see them spending a few weeks off work, wasn't his concern, and in this case the most important thing was that he and Ruth were both safe, he concluded that all was not lost.

Hoping that Ruth wouldn't say she was fine when she clearly wasn't, he pulled her into his arms, relieved when she gave in and rested against him. Kissing her on the forehead and in a voice that he hoped didn't convey that he was clutching at straws, this was after all Ruth who analysed everything and everybody, including him.

'We can do this sweetheart,' he told her, at the same time, praying that she wasn't going to burst into tears. Relieved when she didn't, he determined that wherever they lay their heads tonight, not only would he tread carefully when he chose his words, but he'd be gentle. He could do gentle, of course he could.

Plus, if push came to shove, he knew who he could turn to for help.

.

Up until this moment, they'd only been to the house twice. The first time when they'd seen it advertised and had driven over the next day to look at the area, when Ruth without any doubt in her mind, had described it as love at first sight. The second visit when they'd measured up for their furniture. Vague plans as far as he could remember which was just as well, apart from a trip into Ipswich, when they'd chosen the curtains and blinds, which were being delivered at some time the following afternoon. Another positive was that the heating would be on, the pubs landlady had agreed to see to that when he'd rung her with their arrival date. Would she have a room where they could stay the night? He certainly hoped so. Because in what was now classed as winter and when his wife was upset, he didn't want to spend his time driving around looking for somewhere to have a meal and to sleep.

Mo Harris, the lady in question, was a mother of three one-time very lively children, now adults who had long since grown up and flown the nest. Since their departure she'd adopted the residents of Dunwich to fill in the gap, and everyone, no matter what age they were got the same treatment. She was the perfect landlady in every sense, who had seen it all over time. Marriages, divorces, babies born, arguments between neighbours and the odd punch up, all of which had come with their problems as well as their joys. True to her word, she'd taken herself down to Glynde Cottage before opening time and done as Harry had asked of her. In fact, she'd secretly decided that Harry was, as they used to say in her youth, 'a bit of alright'. It was a Thursday and the pub would be quiet, so she'd kept a table to one side, just in case they wanted to eat there rather than to cook at home. She'd always prided herself that the 'The Swan and Cygnets' was the ultimate heart of the village, which meant her latest mission, was to make sure the new arrivals were made to feel welcome.

.

Having been shown their room, they were now sitting in the bar beside the fire. Ruth doing what she always did, when she needed to calm down, she was doing her breathing exercises. But as hard as she was trying, she couldn't quite get past the vision of all their things, in a pile only fit for a bonfire. _They're only things and things can be_ _replaced,_ said a voice in her head. But they were their things and contained memories built up over what now felt like centuries. Photographs from the days when people put them in albums and sometimes still did. She knew for certain that Harry had a small collection of photos that Adam had given him when Wes had been growing up. For safe keeping after Fiona had died.

'I know I can trust you to look after these,' he'd told Harry. Photographs of his own children, who despite what other people said, quite cruelly in her opinion and she'd said so, he loved to bits.

All of which, meant that she'd made sure that they'd taken a great care when they'd packed them, during the frantic last few weeks in the run up to this day.

Harry had been so lovely. Ensuring that he took as much of the workload on his shoulder's as was humanly possible. Always putting her first and making sure that she hadn't been overdoing it. During what, had also been a very emotional few months. Leaving behind what had been a lifetime of service for Harry, he'd just sailed through, whereas when it had got to the last few days, especially when they'd said goodbye to Malcolm, it had been her that had struggled. Dear Malcolm, the sweetest man alive she'd told him when she'd hugged him. Making him promise that he'd come to visit them once they were settled in.

But, and there was always a but, or in this case an exception where she was concerned. Apart from Harry, who it went without saying was top of her list, there was something that she valued more than any other. It had been delivered unexpectedly, one month after 'the night on the bus moment' as she liked to remember it. The first time that she and Harry had realised that the feelings they had for one another were reciprocated. Something that they hadn't acknowledged verbally until much later. She'd been reading one of her much- thumbed Jane Austin novels, until Harry had sat down behind her and said 'nice night out.' The strange thing was, that she'd sensed it was him, even before he'd spoken. Still consumed with thoughts of him and how his hand had lingered on hers much longer than was needed, how warm it had been and how much bigger than hers, she hadn't been concentrating when she'd got off the bus. The rain had been pouring down and when she'd been searching for her keys, the book had slipped through her fingers and fallen onto the ground. When she'd tried to dry it, the pages had curled. She'd mentioned it in passing and thought nothing of it, until a few weeks later, when Harry had insisted this time, that he give her a lift home. Producing a small parcel when he was saying goodnight on her doorstep, he'd squeezed her hand. Staying only briefly, rather than what had been so obviously the chance to be honest with each other and to take their relationship a step further. After she'd watched him drive away, she'd gone inside with a heavy heart, until she'd opened up the parcel. Sense and Sensibility, the book that she'd been reading, an original that he'd signed simply Harry and with the date. More precious now than ever, because it was the first present that he had ever given her.

'Here you are,' said a cheerful voice, bringing them both out of the doldrums as a pot of tea for two and some toasted tea cakes arrived in the safe hands of Mo.

.

By the time that they went back down to the bar for dinner, a sense of calm had settled over them. They had a comfortable bed to sleep in, in a warm and cosy room. It might not be in their own home, but it was in the village where they'd chosen to live. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was still a sleep away. What was done was done and there was nothing they could do about it other than to claim on the insurance. In the total scheme of things, it was small fry compared to what they'd been through together up until this moment. Apart from their unspoken thoughts, as to what the other might have lost.


	17. Chapter 17

Waiting until Ruth had closed her eyes before he'd turned off the light, Harry knew that he'd never grow tired of this most precious time of the day. Here in this sleepy village, where the world really did feel as though it was standing still. Where there was no longer the constant hum of traffic to keep them awake. Complete silence, which on nights well into the future, in their own bedroom, they would be able to lie awake for longer, as they grew ever closer together.

A problem shared was a problem halved, and this one, for the moment at least, was how they'd agreed to approach the following days. What was done was done. A philosophy that when breakfast was being delivered to their table the next morning, together with a clear sky outside the window, was still very much in evidence.

'Any problems, _anything_ you need, you just call me,' Mo reminded them, as they climbed into the car to drive the mile or so to the house. Armed with a list of shops that sold anything and everything, from a bucket to a full house of furniture.

'Nothing too modern,' Harry had told her before Ruth had arrived at the breakfast table. Where up until then, he'd been passing the time by admiring the tables and chairs in the dining room and imagining them having something similar. At which point, Mo had added another name to the list.

'If it's character you're looking for, try Dobbs in Ipswich,' she'd told him, in a voice that despite her broad accent he was starting to get used to.

.

Letting Harry carry her over the threshold, something that he'd been quite prepared to do, wasn't going to happen and Harry already knew that. Proven as soon as he opened the door and Ruth was past him. Disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, he knew exactly why and his heart lifted at the thought of it. Their forever home as Malcolm had called it when they'd shown him the details, desperately needing to share their news with someone, was a Suffolk longhouse. Chalk from cheese from both of their houses in London.

The kitchen especially, which had been installed by the previous occupants, was almost brand new and Ruth had fallen in love with it. Not quite 'bugger the rest' but pretty close. Access to the remaining rooms on the ground floor, was without a corridor or a hall, although by no means did it feel as though it was open plan. It felt quirky. It was quirky. There was exactly the same feeling on the first floor, except that here there was a passageway along one side, with circular windows like the bottoms of huge bottles, that overlooked the farmland that butted onto theirs. The three bedrooms and the bathroom, were accessed by climbing one of the two staircases at either end of the house and it was here that he finally caught up with her. That Ruth was happy this morning was an understatement. She was bouncing.

Then of course there was the garden, which Ruth had described as wonderful and something that she was longing to get to grips with. Another of the many things that had been music to his ears, even though he was a self-confessed hater of getting his hands in the soil. Admiring a well-tended garden was an entirely different matter and their new garden was certainly that. Having been added too over the years, it had become one of those rambling plots. Not unlike his brother's in France, but a lot smaller.

On the day that they'd decided to buy it, Ruth certainly hadn't needed his encouragement. A positive and excited Ruth, something that always made him feel ten years younger and capable of doing anything, whether he wanted to or not, had been egged on by Mr. Potts, the previous owner. A lovely old man who was well into his eighties, who was selling the house to move nearer to his kids, now that he was on his own. The late Mrs Potts had been the gardener, he'd told them when they'd been admiring his workshop. His favourite place where he'd spent most of his time.

As Harry had eyed up the neat rows of hammers, screw drivers and vices that he was leaving for them, he hadn't had the heart to tell him that he'd be calling in the nearest handyman for anything that turned out to be over complicated. Although contrary to public opinion, who in this case had been his former wife, he could do most jobs around the house with his eyes closed. His years in the army and then as a spy, and he could pretty much dismantle or put together anything, or anybody for that matter. It was one of the chief requirements of survival.

But that had been then and this was now and as he headed back out to the car, to bring in the few things that they had brought with them, a wave of pure happiness washed over him. An overnight case, just to be on the safe side which had become a necessity. Their laptops and the essentials for them to be able to throw together a meal. The shopping that they'd done in the village. All combined to how he was feeling and had nothing to do with the fact that it was November, so he wouldn't be summoned to cut the lawn for a few month's yet. Because today was the start of another chapter in the book that Ben had talked about, when he'd told him to take it one step at a time.

More than that, it was the realisation that for the first time since he'd fallen in love with Ruth and certainly since she'd said yes, _now his favourite word in the English Language,_ that they could do what they liked, when they liked and without any restrictions or the need to look at their watches. They were officially free as birds. And that the one that was currently exploring their new nest, would probably appreciate a cup of tea.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that the crunch of gravel on the drive, announced the arrival of the van. A much smaller van than had arrived at Ruth's London house the previous day, causing Harry to squeeze her hand when it slipped into his, as they watched it reverse into the space next to their car.

Respite when it came, was in the form of the man who was delivering the curtains. Sensible enough not to make the obvious comment, or worse still laugh about what would have once been described as furniture, as Ruth took him into the house. Glad that she had something tangible to do, as she guided him from room to room. Especially as his arrival was coinciding with Harry negotiating without cost, that the damaged furniture, not all of it by any means, would be taken away and disposed of. The boxes which they'd carefully labelled were in varying states. Some were crushed, some not and some were even the same shape as when they packed them. All of which were being carefully carried through to the dining room.

When the whirlwind of activity finally stopped, Ruth drew the curtains in the kitchen and took stock. Good choice she thought, admiring what they'd chosen. Gazing around her favourite room as she unpacked the crockery and the other bits and bobs that Mo had lent them. Despite everything, or perhaps because of what had happened, she suddenly felt grateful. The house was still wrapped around them. They were together. Not a word that she'd often been able to use before now, without crossing her fingers. Harry was close by and was lighting the fire. The worst was over. It was only going to get better from now on.

_The following day._

Having spent the night, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, with bedding that they'd borrowed, a new bed or in this case beds, were essential. And not because they hadn't slept well, because they had. Like logs in fact. Until they'd be woken up by a call from Catherine, wanting to know how they were settling in.

'Do you need any help?' ceased to be a question, as soon as Harry opened his mouth. Remembering only too late, that his headstrong daughter revelled in a challenge, and would immediately throw one back at him.

'Could she bring the boys, or should she leave them at her mother's?' Was only going to get one answer. Harry hadn't seen his grandsons for almost three months. Even then, it had only been for an hour or so, before he'd been called back into work.

'I'll see you tomorrow then, give my love to Ruth,' she told him. Not before adding that 'it would be fun.'

'Do we really need three-year old twin boys and Catherine to add to the chaos?' he asked Ruth over breakfast. Already imagining their smiling faces, and to hell with the added carnage that the two small boys would surely create. Wes briefly crossing his mind. How they needed to ring him when they had a moment. How Adam had talked about bonding with his son. How here in their new house, with his family that now included Ruth, he'd have time on their hands to enjoy himself.

'Why not? Either way, that's what we're going to get. Perhaps we ought to hide that chocolate you're so fond of,' Ruth suggested. And not entirely because she was concerned about the boy's teeth. Harry and his stash of chocolate buttons was legendary. She was also secretly pleased that she was going to spend some time with Catherine again. Harry could cope with the boys. After all, he'd been a boy himself once hadn't he?

Dobbs when they found it, was on a trading estate on the outskirts of town. Two large warehouses, linked by a glass walkway, which at first glance, would probably have somewhere that they'd have rejected, had it not been for Mo's insistence that it sold everything! Ends of lines from the more conventional shops and high end second hand. Well worth a look as it turned out.

Would they be able to deliver in the morning? Absolutely! How often did they get customers, who intended spending more in a single day than they usually took in the space of a week? Even managing to rustle up some coffee and biscuits, half way through the course of their shopping, which by then had covered pretty much all of the larger items.

'Now I know why kids end up knackered in a toy shop,' Harry mumbled, when the very helpful assistant called Tina, left them alone to catch their breath. With the instructions to call her when they were ready to set off again, or if they needed anything else. Anything else, in this case was to choose some crockery that they both liked. Some glasses and what amounted to everything that you might need to use in a kitchen. _Thank goodness for the list,_ thought Harry, steadily crossing off more items as they moved on into the section that sold bedding and towels.

'That's it, what we haven't got will have to wait,' he said, with the patience of a saint, when they piled the last of what they'd chosen into the umpteenth trolley. Thinking that, _if for the sake of his sanity, Ruth could convince him that the reason they were doing this, was because they wanted too and not because they'd been forced too, that he might even take up sky diving._

_._

The twenty tiny fingers and twenty tiny toes that belonged to Michael and Tom, were accompanied by two very loud and excited voices. Combine with legs that moved rapidly, the moment that they clapped eyes on Harry, until they'd successfully got him in a knee lock times two, pretty much summed up how things were going to pan out. These tiny assassins, potentially far more troublesome than any he'd encountered in his working life, had spent the entire journey from London on a wave of expectation. Because their grandpa who they loved to bits, now lived in the country. Where there would be sheep and cows and puddles to jump into when it rained.

The fact their grandpa had been planning to christen his new marital bed, in a time honoured fashion, now that they had a bed, wasn't something that Catherine had considered. With a partner who spent weeks on end abroad in the line of duty, or in this case to bring in a good wage, something that she struggled with in the same way that her mother once had, she'd long since accepted bouts of chastity, as the price she had to pay.

With the play school where she worked closed for a couple of weeks, she could have gone to her mother's. But what would that have achieved? Home from home, where the boys would be restricted to staying indoors and doing the same old. Besides, since she'd rekindled her relationship with her dad and since the boys had been born, she'd faced up to the fact, that what she could actually remember of her early childhood, had been fun. This need she had to spend more time with him now, might be very strong, but it wasn't just about her. She wanted him to understand he hadn't failed her. He'd been a great dad and that she'd always loved him. Where better to come than to a totally new environment. Suffolk, where he'd set up home with Ruth, who she already knew would want this for her dad as much as she did.

All of which she'd have to tell him later. Because oblivious to the fact that she and Ruth had been standing together watching him, with huge smiles on their faces, Harry had finally stopped pretending that he was their captive and had extricated himself from the two little limpets.


	18. Chapter 18

When Catherine had rung her Dad and he'd told her what had happened, she'd been surprised. Rather than him sounding upset, he'd seemed resigned. Calm even. Most unlike him in a crisis. Or what she'd have deemed to be a crisis. Only to be confirmed when she'd helped Ruth get dinner and then make up the beds, when she'd been staggered by the extent of what they'd had to buy, and more especially by the reality of what they'd actually lost. Virtually everything, or at least everything as she could remember - just gone.

'Just put me to work,' she'd told Ruth and had meant it. Still wondering how the hell they were both managing to stay so calm. That, and remembering that her Dad had once told her that she'd have made a really good spy and to some extent he'd been right. She'd seen so little of her Dad and Ruth as a couple, so part of the reason that she'd given in to the boy's demands without a fight, was to prove him right.

A revelation in itself, for someone who had only seen them together a few times. An unspoken magnetism. Nothing overblown, or showy with a big sign hovering over their heads. This togetherness that they had was far more subtle, and because of it, totally believable. More than that though, it was lovely to see how comfortable they were with each other. How _ordinary _they looked. A word that she'd never have applied to her Dad. But then in recent years, she'd rarely seen him in anything other than a suit and tie and never this happy. No obvious sign of resentment from either of them, that she'd gate crashed their party. Not that this was going to stop her worrying about them. Not yet anyway. Which was why she was going to ask them if she could stay until the end of the week.

'I really do want to help,' she told them and meaning it, walking into the kitchen the next morning in search of a quiet few moments with the grown-ups, before the boys woke up. Rewinding to the previous evening, when she'd said goodnight and then watched her Dad and Ruth heading for bed close to midnight, she hadn't expected to find them laying the table and getting breakfast prepared so early. Opening and closing cupboards, presumably trying to remember exactly where they'd put something, with a pile of already empty boxes waiting to be disposed of. Sure that anyone other than her, would have presumed that they'd been up all night.

Except that they hadn't, as the slight blush on Ruth's cheeks indicated, when she'd walked into the room and disturbed them. She wasn't naiive by any means, she was a married woman herself and it wasn't as if she hadn't imagined her Dad and Ruth in bed together. But to see it the morning after so to speak, was an all-together different experience. Resisting the overwhelming desire say something less than sensitive, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

.

On the other side of the kitchen where he was slicing bread, Harry wasn't in the least bit fooled by the expression on Catherine's face. He was also well aware of what was going through his daughter's mind. She was right though. He and Ruth had christened their new bed. Quietly as it happened or so he'd thought. Which had been bloody difficult, given that they'd both been on a massive high. Which after a day of positives, had they'd been on their own, would have seen the windows rattling on their hinges in appreciation. Whereas unfortunately, it had been restricted to a desperate and quick release for both of them. Not without it's passion though and a combined expletive.

Whether Catherine had heard them or not, sex wasn't only a privilege of the young. But even if she hadn't, he knew what a vivid imagination she had. Terrifying close to Ros in fact. Maybe it had something to do with her being blonde. An inbuilt radar of some sort. Which was probably racist or sexist or one of the other non PC whatsits that he'd never got his head around.

Then of course he had the boys to consider. Having already asked him when they could go and see some sheep, and why were the cows who'd been studying the new arrivals from the other side of the fence, different colours? Harry knew when it came, that the question to which he still didn't have an answer, sufficient to stop the twins their tracks, would be directed at him. If for no other reason, than they thought he knew everything. A miracle in itself. But then they were only three. That and the fact that every answer he'd ever given them, had been followed up by another question. In the same way that Catherine had questioned everything at the same age.

Up until now, Ruth had been just Ruth. The nice lady who'd he'd known for a long time, who loved their Grandpa very much. No other explanation had been needed. Explanations as to why she now lived with him and was sleeping in his bed, they'd face when it happened. Now as imminent as the approaching thunderstorm that was sweeping in from Scandinavia, if the weather forecaster was to be believed. Questions from the inquisitive twins, which would include, could they still climb into his bed for a cuddle if Ruth was in there, and why did they have three grandmas now, as opposed to their friends at school, who in general had two? The fact that some of these friends had two mummies or two daddies, had so far passed them by according to Catherine, so maybe this new situation would as well?

It had been years since he'd had to field off such questions from his own children. In fact, Graham had barely asked him anything. How he wished he had. Maybe now was the time for him to really make an effort with his son. This need he had, to put the final piece in the jigsaw puzzle. When he would have Ruth to help him find the words, or console him if he was rejected yet again.

Although for every negative there was always a positive and this had been no different. Not once had it crossed his mind that he'd have grandchildren, and certainly not two at the same time. He loved the boys unconditionally. More than that, they'd been the catalyst that had patched up his relationship with his ex-wife. On the day that they'd been born, he'd suggested with little hope that she'd say yes, that they drive to the hospital together. But she had. Both of them overwhelmed by the prospect of what was unfolding, they'd been civil to each other. To the point where she'd grabbed his hand when they'd been ushered in to meet the new arrivals. How out of nowhere when they'd gone for a coffee afterwards, he'd told her all about Ruth. How she'd walked into his life at a time when he'd been floundering. That instead of her usual rebuff, Jane had said that she was happy for him and that it was time they personally rebuilt some bridges. How when Catherine had told her that he and Ruth had got married, that she'd sent them a card.

Thoughts that were interrupted, by what later in the day, he would go on to describe as an icing on the cake moment. One that would stop him worrying about things that he couldn't control. Michael, only distinguishable from Tom, because he was slightly less quick on his feet, and less pushy than his brother, was always on his shirt tails to some extent. As they came bundling through the door, his route to Harry was cut off by the legs of table. At any other time, he'd have headed for his mother, but Catherine had gone back upstairs for a shower. It would have been unkind to have said that Ruth was his only option for a morning cuddle. She was much more than that. This child had taste he thought, as with a certain amount of pride, he watched him over Tom's shoulder. Ruth had been sitting down when they'd come in and with no hesitation, he climbed onto her lap and made himself comfortable. By the time that Catherine came back down, Michael and Ruth were deep in conversation about the fact that his wellies were red, whilst Tom's were blue and the merits of jumping up and down in puddles.

.

The puddles that the boys had been craving, were likely to be provided by some heavy rain, due to start later in the afternoon. Whereas for now, the beach was providing an outlet, not only for their energy but to keep them occupied for a while. That and to give him and Ruth a break.

'Stay close, no rushing off now,' he told them, in voice that they'd rarely heard, as he looked at the waves that were crashing onto the sand and shingle beach. Tom racing towards the water. Michael holding back. Turning to wave at him and Ruth. A beach, that by no means tourists would flock too. In fact it was tiny compared to its neighbours. But it was their beach now. From which the one hundred or so souls that lived in Dunwich gained great pride, by keeping it clean and litter free.

With the unpacking forgotten for a while and with Catherine staying at home to tidy up and get the lunch ready by the time they got back, it was a relief to get outside and breathe in some fresh air. Harry could almost imagine him and Ruth going for walks and getting a dog at some time in the future. Wrapped up against the cold wind, had anyone been watching them, they would have thought them to be a conventional family group. No one would have suspected, that this man who was watching the woman who'd walked ahead of him, to keep a close eye on the boys who were exploring the rock pools, was the recently retired head of counter terrorism. Even more unlikely, was that his wife, who over the years that she'd worked by his side, had uncovered more essential Intel, than any other analyst in the history of the service. They were as Catherine had observed, just two ordinary people, who after all this time, had the world at their feet.

.

Sausage and mash, who didn't like sausage and mash? It was easy and it was quick and after a morning in the fresh air, whether you were a three-year old, or in your fifties, with the promise of ice cream to follow, you weren't going to say anything other than 'yes please' were you? That and an evening when they'd all cuddled up around the fire and relaxed, until Catherine announced that she wanted to get an early night. Having already settled the boys down with a bedtime story and the promise of another fun day tomorrow.

When because they'd finally got some time on their own, Harry and Ruth stayed by the fire. Until Ruth headed for bed, while Harry tidied up the kitchen and to save time in the morning, laid the table for breakfast. Like his daughter, Harry could sleep the sleep of the dead when he was tired and he was certainly that. So it was guaranteed that when he fell into bed, that tonight, he'd be asleep within moments.

Despite being just as tired, in fact overtired in her case, Ruth couldn't sleep, and as a result, the longer that she lay there, the more her mind got working again. Even spooning herself in behind Harry. His bulk that was her comfort blanket that usually sent her into the land of nod without thinking about it, wasn't working as it usually did. She tried turning over. She tried adjusting her pillow. She turned back again and snuggled in behind Harry, breathing him in. Letting her mind wander towards happy things.

They'd had a wonderful day, Harry especially and that was what mattered to her the most. But this happiness went far deeper than that, because she now felt part of the wider family. She'd always known how protective Harry had been of his daughter and she of him, so as someone who'd only recently become part of the Pearce clan, she'd been harbouring a niggling doubt that it would take a while before Catherine would accept her. Except that from the moment she'd arrived, Catherine had made it obvious that she had. By insisting that she and Harry should take the boys out, then telling her that she needed to talk to her. That she had plans. Plans that included getting Graham back into the fold. He was teetering apparently, as opposed to his previous rejection of his father. Too keep it to herself, just for a few more weeks.

How could she not. This was what Harry had wanted for _so _long. It was heart breaking, that he still believed that he'd never see his son again. Besides, he was a father, a grandfather and a husband now. He put them all first. Come to think of it, despite the fact that until recently he'd believed that he'd got it so wrong, he hadn't. They'd always been his priority. As well as them being his greatest loss, they'd also been his finest achievement.

Closing her eyes, she buried herself against Harry's warm frame. Overwhelmed with a rush of love, for the man who was so close to getting the one present that he still craved.


	19. Chapter 19

It had been a slow rebuilding process, but in terms of turning their house into a home, order and a sense of real calm had replaced the chaos. Their material losses, had been overtaken by thoughts of what lay ahead for them. Bookshops that they might discover. New places they could explore. Holidays that would replace the uncertainty and terror, that had haunted their previous lives. With the promise of future visits from the boys, they'd channelled their energy into building a play area in the garden. An idea that they'd pinched from their visit to see Ben. Not without the occasional,'no not that one, the other one,'from him, and from Ruth 'are you sure that goes there darling?' All of which they'd survived and with their marriage intact. On the personal side of things, life was good. More than good in fact. It was close to being perfect. Destined, or perhaps because they were slowly managing to put aside what had gone on in their joint past, to be replaced by what they had now and could look forward to in the years to come. A future that they _did _have control over.

Except that despite the promises, they hadn't seen the boys again. Or the prodigal Graham, that mercifully only Ruth knew a about up until now. Niggling away at her, because she and Harry had vowed to be honest with each other at all times, but in this case, meant that she was keeping something from him.

The boys had colds. They'd already promised her mother that she could come to them for Christmas. Catherine was rushed off her feet at work. They'd see them soon. All of which had been spread over the weekly phone calls from his daughter.

.

If Harry was having a bad time, then it paled into insignificance compared to what Catherine had been dealing with. Catherine, who had lost it on more than on occasion as Graham had continued to dither, had just put the phone down, after a long conversation with her mother. Jane, still very much on side, who'd suggested that she needed to tackle Graham head on and stop pulling punches. That by now Harry would be worried sick. That he'd think there was something that she wasn't telling him and it was a wonder that he hadn't already arrived on her doorstep demanding an explanation. Understandable and very likely, given Harry's vivid imagination and that it was three months since they'd come home from Suffolk. By which time, Christmas and New Year had come and gone and the East of England had made the headlines. During one of the wettest winters in living memory, when roads had been impassable for weeks on end, until respite arrived in March. When the daffodils and tulips were in full flower. When there were buds on the trees and the lambs at the nearby farm where her father and Ruth lived had been born. Ruth's messages having kept her in the loop, brief though they'd been, but getting increasingly more desperate.

'You love the boys. Dad loves the boys. Common ground Graham. What's the matter with you?'

_Was Catherine stupid? Did she really not know why he was so frightened? _He was weary with the bombardment and knew that he couldn't stall much longer and in truth didn't want too. Catherine meant well, but even she had her limits when it came to her patience. That if he continued to prevaricate, that there would come a time, when even she would give up on him. Then who would he turn too?

'Dad was wrong,' he told her. 'It wasn't just you that overheard that conversation with Mum.'

'What conversation?'

'The one where he said that I was the one with the brains. As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn't. All I had, was a bloody great ego and a load of old bullshit in my head and look where it's got me. What I bloody deserve. Stacking shelves for a living and being my sisters part time childminder.' He was on a roll now. 'In those early days, Dad just wasn't around enough to notice, and by the time I was ready to tell him, I'd lost my nerve. Twelve years Catherine. It's twelve years since I've seen him. And before you say anything else. The reason that I don't think I can do this, is that they'll be this look of utter disappointment on his face.'

_Was he really so stupid_ _that he believed that she didn't know all this? She'd been the one that had poured him into bed when he'd drunk too much and had cuddled him when he'd cried. Endless things she could say if she had the time, but she didn't._ _Blackmail was an ugly word, emotional or otherwise. Was she turning into her father? It certainly felt like it. Did it matter, no it bloody well didn't. Because Graham could hardly refuse, could he? Not when the boy's case was already packed and their birthday presents were in the car._

'Well as sad as that might be, you're going to have to try Graham,' she told him, moderating the tone, whilst still sticking to her guns. 'Because if you don't, your nephews are going to have to walk to Suffolk and we both know that that's not going to happen. Your choice. Take it or leave it Graham. Now I'm going to make us both a cup of tea, while you get yourself upstairs and decide what you're going to take with you.'

.

'It'll be lovely, just the boys and us on our own.' Ruth told Harry, watching as the expression on his face changed when he put the phone down. Whether or not it was true, Ruth didn't know at this stage, but Catherine had told Harry that her husband Peter had got some unexpected leave from his work and wanted to take her away for a couple of nights. The one thing she_ was_ certain about, was that it wouldn't be Catherine who would be bringing the boys.

'Please Dad,' Catherine had pleaded, buying into the plan that she and Ruth had contrived. Knowing full well that he'd say yes, having just read Ruth's latest message. Before adding, 'that her mother had been more than willing to have them, but that she saw them all the time.' Failing to mention that she'd already packed their toys. And more importantly, that it would be Graham who was bringing them. She just had to work out the logistics and make sure that Graham didn't change his mind by the morning.

A morning when it wasn't raining, after a night when Harry had slept intermittently. Had he known that he'd be reunited with his son in less than five hours, he probably wouldn't have gone to bed at all. As it was, when Ruth woke up at seven, to an empty bed and with the sound of the radio on downstairs, she couldn't help but smile. She re read Catherine's message. All sorted. Boys excited. Graham still a bit fragile. Ring me if you need rescuing. Love C xx

Apart from the postman or the occasional delivery van, only Mo and the vicar had been to visit them. That wasn't to say that they'd kept themselves to themselves. Contrary to Ruth's belief, that they'd struggle to communicate with the neighbours, they'd settled in to village life well. The bad weather had brought the able bodied in the village out in force and that had included them. On one particularly bad morning when the power had gone down, she and Harry had been asked if they'd man the pub and serve coffee, while Mo delivered meals to those who were stuck at home. It had gone on from there. Including a very loud and enjoyable New Year's Eve party. Which meant that when Graham called at the pub to ask the directions to where they lived, he was guaranteed a warm welcome. That his Dad and Ruth were lovely and a real asset to the village, meant that by extension, he had to be as well. As Mo told him enthusiastically, as only Mo could,'that he was the image of his Dad and that he had to make sure that he came to see her again before he went home.' Something that he'd promised he'd do.

The crunch on the gravel when he parked up and the squeals from behind him, gave him no option other than to climb out of the car. He'd been fine until he'd driven into the village, when his nerves had got the better of him and he'd missed the turning.

At least he had some warning, which Harry didn't, which meant that when he watched him reaching into the car, he presumed that it was his son in law who was releasing the boys from their seats. Until in an explosion of excitement, and what looked to be in slow motion, Harry came face to face with his son.

Ruth had been waiting in the wings, trying to stay calm. Which had worked until she heard the car arrive._ Please god let it be alright_ she was thinking as she held back for a moment, before following Harry outside. The realisation that she'd be meeting Graham for the first time, suddenly more daunting than she'd imagined. That and there was a tableau standing in front of her. Harry and Graham wrapped together in a warm embrace, with the boys as they had been the first time that she'd seen, except this time, wrapped around two sets of adult legs. With Tom announcing as though they didn't already know, that he and his brother, were going to be four at the weekend.

Clutching at straws, she resorted to the tried and tested. It was by no means warm and the waves of emotion that were building, as Graham's shoulder's shook uncontrollably, meant that she needed to act.

'Hot chocolate and a biscuit,' she called out to the boys, reluctantly turning her back on Harry and Graham, who still hadn't moved an inch.

Wanting to give them as much time and space as they needed, hadn't been easy, but she'd contrived games that had kept the boys occupied for the best part of the day. An early evening meal had been followed by bath time, an experience in itself. As she'd ensured that at least some of the water stayed in the bath tub, while they played a game that involved sinking a battleship. Then tucking them up in bed and telling them a story. A concept so alien to anything that she'd ever done before, but she'd really enjoyed. By which time she'd been so tired, that having made herself a warm drink and after a quick goodnight to Harry and Graham, she'd taken herself off to bed. What better to do than to read her most precious possession, one of the few things that had survived the move. The house had just felt so full of love that she'd ended up almost crying herself to sleep as the tears had arrived unbidden. What time Harry had come to bed she had no idea. What had happened she hadn't asked him yet. He'd tell her in his own time.

_The following morning._

'Five more minutes, they're not even awake yet,' Harry whispered. The clock said half past seven, Ruth was still wrapped around him and he was so comfortable and warm. On any other day, he'd have stayed there, but with Graham sleeping in the spare room at the end of the landing and the twins next door, what he wanted, wasn't going to happen. What replaced it, was a revised version of the red flash that had once alerted them to trouble on far too many occasions. The boys. Their mother wasn't there to say no was she, and grandpa was a pushover. Ruth had been added to the short list of people that they _really_ liked, having helped them build a fort in the sandpit, taken them for a long walk, cooked beans on toast for their tea which was their favourite, and then read them their bedtime story. So why would they think there was a reason that they shouldn't go in and say good morning, or in this case disturb their early morning kiss.

Again, with assassin like precision, they'd also devised a secret plan. One that would involve them searching his and Ruth's bedroom for their birthday presents. Because with the grown-ups still asleep, they'd already searched every other room in the house and found nothing. Not that they were able to reach up very high and knew that they weren't allowed to climb on chairs. Grandpa might be a pushover, one that they loved to bits, but he could be fierce as well. They'd heard him use a naughty word once when he'd stubbed his toe on a door, and they didn't want him to be fierce with them if they jumped on him. A pincer movement from either side of the bed, was what they'd decided on. Only to discover that Ruth knew naughty words as well, when Michael kneed her in the small of her back.

'Are we having a party? Can you make us a cake? Will it be a chocolate one? Were questions that were being delivered to Ruth during breakfast. Ruth their new best friend, who was still trying to recover from the effects of the previous day, was aware that her ability to make a cake, rather depended on her finding a recipe, or better still would involve a quick dash to Marks and Spencer's. Who at Christmas, had sold a Harry the Hedgehog chocolate cake, amongst its other named products. Which of course the Harry she was married to, had eaten with gusto. In the bath together. Combined with several glasses of white wine and several toppings up of the hot water, as the evening had progressed into a sex fest. An occasion that was seared into both their minds, never to be forgotten. The fact that the same Harry was mouthing 'yes please' with a smouldering look from across the table, was playing hell with her ability to breathe, or answer any of the twin's questions.

Something that had the same effect on Harry, was a call later in the day from Catherine, to apologise to her Dad for the deception and to tell him, that if the boys were pestering him and Ruth about presents, then a trip out somewhere would be lovely. At which point Harry realised that he had been well and truly played, not only by his daughter, but by his wife. That the two women in his life, had far more control over him than he had over them and the promise of a shower together later by Ruth, had been her way of saying sorry, and not to save water as she'd suggested. He of course would have preferred a re-run of the bath night, but then he couldn't have everything could he? Not at the moment anyway.

.

Any thought that Graham might have had, that it would be a long drawn out struggle to overcome the fears that he'd carried for so long, had started to be dispelled the previous evening. That much he did remember. He'd drunk far too much he knew that, but he had no recollection of what he'd actually said. That and having no idea as to how he'd got to bed. Which meant that when he woke to see the light streaming through the window, he had no idea what the time was. In addition to a marching band that was practising inside his head, he could see his Dad sitting on the chair in his room watching him. Until now, neither of them had been very forthright or tactile and certainly not with each other. That though was about to change, when his Dad stood up and placed a cup of coffee bedside his bed. Then through the blur, he heard his Dad tell him that he loved him, before he kissed him on the forehead.

When he woke up again, he still felt like something the dog had dragged in. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, confirmed that he also looked like it. After a shower and a shave, he came downstairs to find Ruth alone in kitchen. Outside the window, he could hear as well as see his Dad and the boys in the garden, down near his workshop. Everything looked and felt so welcoming. A scene that was filled with love and had a sense of normality about it. Something he'd craved for as long as her could remember.

Toast?' Ruth offered, breaking into his train of thought, as he stood back uncertain as to what to do next. Speaking in a voice that suggested that she was used to him being there and that she'd known him for years. Nodding to him to sit down as she switched on the kettle. The mental isolation that he'd subjected himself too, lifting even further, when she turned to look at him. The depth of her smile, enveloping him like a warm blanket. Questions, there were so many questions that he wanted to ask her, but not yet.

Catherine had woken up in an empty house. As always with Peter's messages, the sorry had been prefixed by - it's not possible, there's an emergency. She'd got used to the isolation, but it was the physical contact that she still struggled to cope with. The boys had in their small way helped, but it had been the reconciliation with her Dad that had saved her. There was no point in her calling him, because he'd say yes, whatever was happening around him. It was Ruth that she needed to speak to.

'Could she make a chocolate cake?' Ruth asked her.

'No she couldn't. But she could certainly buy one on the way.' It was one day and counting.

.

The Heritage Railway at Wells next the Sea was doing very good business. As was the café, which was teeming with children of all ages and several sets of overwrought parents. The over spill, or in this case by choice, Harry, Ruth and the family were enjoying fish and chips at one of the tables outside. An inspired choice that they should come here, had been because Harry and Graham had gone to the pub one evening and had picked up a leaflet designed for tourists. The train that had carried them from one end of the line to the other, wasn't Thomas or Henry or James, but that hadn't stopped the boys imagining that it was. They'd settled on Henry, because it was green. From where Harry was sitting, it was the sheer joy on the boys faces that was overwhelming him. That and because Graham had asked Ruth rather than him, if they'd mind him staying on for a while, after Catherine and the boys had gone home. That he didn't want to be a burden on Catherine any longer, and if he was going to find work, then he had a better chance of doing so in Suffolk. That Mo had offered him a room at the pub, in exchange for full time help and that she'd pay him enough to keep him going.

On the other side of the table, Ruth as she always did, had just caught his eye. Two minds with but a single thought. As it had always been, they knew what the other was thinking. Frozen in one of their special moments, as hazel locked with blue, they were breathing as one. Except that this time, it wasn't passing unnoticed. They had an audience. Harry's two children. That their Dad was happy. Happier than he'd ever been, was something they'd discussed. That it was almost entirely down to Ruth and how much she and he loved and looked after each other, was a given.

That Ruth and their Dad had and told them both, that they completed the circle was a bonus.


End file.
